


The Stranger Who Has Loved You

by EarendilElwing



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Thorin Oakenshield, BAMF Bilbo Baggins, M/M, Modern Middle Earth, Office Romance, PTSD, References to Past Drug Use, References to Torture (Not Explicitly described though), War violence, bagginshield, on temporary hiatus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5140181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarendilElwing/pseuds/EarendilElwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin Durin-Oakenshield has a problem.  It's not his company's recent legal problems, the invasive police investigations, or the threat of old enemies coming back to haunt him.  It's that he may or may not have developed feelings for his assistant - an assistant who might not be who he claims to be...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story is inspired by a line in the poem“Love After Love” by Derek Walcott. Be sure to check it out.

I.

It had been a bad day.

Between the monthly budget review, overlong meetings with the company lawyers, and his nephews’ teenage drama, it was a true miracle he’d been able to maintain his composure and resist the overwhelming urge to murder someone.  As it was, he could feel a massive migraine coming on, pricking at the base of his skull and beginning to pound incessantly in his left temple.  He’d shut off the radio and dimmed the lights about an hour ago to try and lessen the effects, but he’d run out of aspirin and didn’t have anything else on hand to mitigate the pain.

Thorin Durin-Oakenshield removed his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning at the dense, weighted sensation in his head.  Then he reclined in his supposedly ergonomic leather chair, rested his head against the cushioned back, and closed his eyes.  He took several deep breaths to clear his mind, trying to will both his headache and his hunger away, to no avail.

Barely a few minutes elapsed when there was a firm knock on the door.  He could feel it reverberating in his skull.  With a pained sigh, he sat up straighter and ran his fingers through his short, dark hair, pushing the prematurely greying strands out his eyes.  “Enter,” he commanded.

The ornate, steel knob turned, and the door swung open to allow a rather smallish man with unruly honey-brown curls and an amiable smile to stride through.  Both hands were gripping green, reusable tote bags, from which there wafted a positively delicious smell, and a briefcase was tucked up under one of his arms.

Thorin immediately felt his shoulders slump in relief, not only glad that it wasn’t one of the panicked accountants coming in to wave a stack of spreadsheets in his face, but also genuinely pleased to see his assistant.  “Ah… good afternoon, Will.”

William Took flashed him an exasperated look as he headed over to the tiny kitchenette discretely tucked away in one corner of the office.  “Evening, you mean.  You worked through lunch again.  It’s well past six o’clock.”  He hefted the bags onto the electric stove and then strode over to the black leather sofa to deposit his briefcase on the coffee table.

Thorin glanced at the clock in the corner of his laptop screen.  “So it is.  I apologize.  I had no intention of working late tonight.  And you certainly don’t have to stick around.”

Will shrugged and returned to the stove.  He opened the cabinet next to it and began to pull out plates and silverware.  “I didn’t have any plans except to grab dinner somewhere.  And since I knew you worked through lunch, I figured we might as well eat together.  Besides, we still have to go over next week’s agenda.”  He glanced over his shoulder while he produced various white cartons from the bags.  “Come away from there,” he ordered.  “You’re not eating at your desk.”

Thorin chuckled and pushed his desk chair back.  He removed his dark grey suit jacket and loosened his black tie as he obeyed, relocating to the side of the office furnished with the sofa, coffee table and an armchair.  There was a time when he found Will’s general fussiness to be overbearing and annoying, but time and a better understanding of his character had helped him come to appreciate it instead.  He might even go so far as to call it endearing.

He sprawled out a little on the sofa, his body stretched out diagonally, his arms across the back of it and his legs crossed at the ankles.  It was a relief to feel his joints pop and muscles extend and contract, releasing the long day’s tension.  It did nothing for his headache, but he rolled his neck a few times, and then shifted a little so that he could casually observe his assistant.

Will was twenty-nine years old, only a few years younger than Thorin, and about a foot shorter.  His hair was a bit longer too, pulled back into a short nub of a ponytail, which was rather pointless actually.  By the end of the workday, most of it would fall loose - wavy, golden strands sticking out all over to give him an almost artfully disheveled appearance.  He had light skin and a slim build, though Thorin noted that he had lost weight recently.  His clothes: sleek black pants, a stiff-collared white dress shirt, dark red waistcoat, and black tie, looked a bit baggier on him than they once did.

He usually discarded the matching suit jacket early in the day, preferring this slightly more casual appearance, but Thorin often thought it made him look like a valet or a card dealer at a casino.

 _‘Or a waiter,’_ he thought, as Will came to join him on the couch, their dinner arranged on a serving tray.  He would never say such a thing out loud; Will sometimes took offense at the strangest things.

“Green Thai chicken curry,” William confirmed, setting the tray down.  “With iced tea and aspirin.”

He waited for Thorin to sit up and give him some room, and then handed him two small, round pills.

“You’re a godsend,” Thorin mumbled.  He popped them in immediately and washed them down with the iced tea.  “How did you know?”

Will took his own plate of white rice from the tray and spooned the chicken and vegetable curry sauce over the top to his liking.  “You always get a migraine after talking to lawyers.”

Thorin followed his example and dug in, forgoing decorum in his haste to satisfy his hunger.  He ignored Will’s raised eyebrow, but he did accept the cloth napkin held out to him.  

They ate in silence for the most part.  Will was excellent at knowing when to engage in conversation and when to keep quiet.  It was one of many traits that Thorin valued.

However, they did have business to attend to.  “How _did_ the meeting go?” Will asked when they had both started on their second helpings.

Thorin grimaced.  “As well as can be expected.  The lawyers are insisting that we stop cooperating with the investigations, but I won’t hear of it.  I want to know who the culprit is as much as the police do.  I’ve got nothing to hide, and providing as much information as possible might expedite the process.”  He took a large swig of his tea to calm the burn of the chili-heavy curry sauce.

He felt Will’s eyes on him as a scrubbed a hand over his tired face.  “It’s just frustrating,” he confessed in a low voice.  I think the lawyers actually believe I _am_ behind the embezzlement.”

William paused with his fork halfway to his mouth.  He set it back down.  “I’m sure that’s not true, sir.  You pay them to protect your interests, and the company’s.  They’re just trying to do their job.  Besides,” and he smiled gently, “it doesn’t really matter what they think.  The people who care about you most trust you.  They know you’ve done nothing wrong.  Your siblings, your nephews, and the majority of your employees... they’re all behind you one-hundred percent.”

“And you, William?  Do you still believe in me?” he wondered in a rare show of vulnerability.

Will pulled a face, wrinkling his nose as if to pronounce the absurdity of such a question.  “You already know the answer to that,” he said firmly.  “And if a black eye and a cracked rib aren’t enough to convince you...”

Thorin knew that he meant it in jest, but he winced anyway.  The incident Will was referring to was not one of Thorin’s finer moments.

While he and Will had a great working relationship now, it had been an extremely rocky start.  Thorin’s previous assistant, Balin Fundinstott, who was also one of his oldest and dearest friends, had resigned after surviving a bout of heart failure to pursue a less stressful career.  It was necessary, certainly understandable, but it couldn’t have a come at a worse time.

His departure had unfortunately coincided with a legal and very public scandal - allegations of embezzlement and fraud within the company.  Such a thing was disastrous on its own accord, but this wasn’t the first time it had happened.  Thròr, Thorin’s grandfather, had been tried and convicted of those same crimes during his time as the company CEO.  It had taken Thràin, Thorin’s father, the better part of his life to rebuild the company into a respected and trusted business again.

But history was doomed to repeat itself.  Inconsistencies in their financial records had recently come to light, and Thorin was publicly crucified in the media.  Phrases like “crime family”, “greed” and “bad blood” were attached to his name, despite evidence, backed by an official police statement, that the Durins were not behind it this time.

Subsequently, Thorin was justifiably overwhelmed (though it was still no excuse for his behavior) when William Took arrived to replace Balin.  He probably wouldn’t have gotten the job at all if Balin hadn’t personally recommended him.  Will’s previous employers had provided glowing references, but his resume, though solid, wasn’t all that impressive.  He was hardly the most qualified candidate, but Thorin had decided to follow Balin’s advice when it came to his successor.  He figured he could always fire him later if he wanted.

Still, Thorin was under a lot of pressure and sad to see his friend leave, so he made up his mind not to like his replacement.  With such a negative mindset, it was easy to pick out little traits and mannerisms that annoyed him or to find fault in his work.  It didn’t take long to convince himself that Will was completely incompetent, and he treated the poor man more like a slave than a paid assistant.  

To his increased frustration, Will usually took his ire with a sort of quiet grace, complying with almost anything Thorin demanded of him with no verbal protest.  That wasn’t to say that he behaved like a doormat; Will always met his eye with a gaze like cold steel, a strained smile, and (Will later confessed) his hands folded behind as back so that he could stop himself from punching Thorin in the face.  He blatantly ignored any unreasonable requests, and he engaged in confident, rational debates when it was appropriate.

The episode that had changed everything occurred about five weeks into Will’s employment.  A city official with whom Thorin had a long standing grudge, Thranduil Greenlee, was up for re-election.  One of his campaign goals centered around decreasing corruption within the government and key business leaders, including those employed at the Lonely Mountain Investment Firm.  He re-opened old wounds and spoke once more of Thròr’s crimes, then accused Thorin of following in his footsteps.  

Between that, and a recent string of arguments with his sister, Thorin wanted something of an escape.  He’d never been a heavy drinker, having seen the consequences of such actions in others, but one night, he went to a bar and got completely wasted.

His memory was a bit fuzzy on the evening’s proceedings, but at some point, a couple of guys who had been affected by Thròr’s illegal acts got in his face to pick a fight with him.  He could have ignored them or walked away, but he’d had enough of playing nice.  He didn’t remember much, but he was sure that he had thrown the first punch.  As a war veteran, well trained and still very fit, Thorin was an exceptionally good fighter, but he hadn’t been in any condition to do so that night.  He might have gotten a few good hits in, but he’d been knocked on his ass fairly quickly.

To his later astonishment, Will had happened to be at the same bar, apparently having a drink with a friend.  Though he’d had no obligation to do so, he intervened on his boss’s behalf, vehemently defending Thorin both verbally and physically.  

The next morning, Thorin woke up on the sofa in his office, wrapped in a blanket, but still dressed in the previous day’s clothes.  He had a splitting headache and immediately felt the need to throw up.  He emptied the contents of his stomach in a nearby garbage can, and then sat down on the floor pathetically to try and piece together what happened.  Will walked in just as he began to suffer from another bout of nausea.  

_“Serves you right,” was the first thing out of his mouth.  “Idiot.”  He purposely kicked the door closed so that it slammed, agitating Thorin’s sensitivities._

_Thorin was about to reprimand his employee for such blatant insubordination, but stopped short when he saw the state of him._

_Will was completely disheveled, likewise wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but they were torn in some places, and splattered here and there with drops of blood.  He was walking around the room, setting down various bundles wherever they needed to be, but he was moving at much more sedate pace than usual, hunched and wheezing like he was having trouble breathing.  When he turned around to set a suit covered with a plastic bag on the armchair, Thorin saw that he had a spectacular black eye and his face was puffy._

_“What...?” he began, but Will didn’t give him the chance to finish._

_“I’ll bring you up to speed,” he interrupted.  He crossed over to the stove and fumbled around with the contents of a shopping bag.  “The incident last night turned into a full-scale bar brawl.  No serious injuries were reported, but there was a quite a lot of damage to the establishment.  The guys who started it got arrested; we kept the police from taking you into custody as well, but you’ll need to go downtown to make a statement.  I’ve already called your attorneys, so they’re on standby and ready to go when you are._

_“I also called your sister last night and told her what happened, though I did sugarcoat it quite a bit, but I told her not to worry, that you were fine and you’d be sleeping at the office.  Good thing I did; the fight made the morning news... wouldn’t have been the best way for her to find out.  Anyway, a friend and I brought you here to sleep it off.  Your publicist is making arrangements for you to issue a public apology for your part in the matter, and I’ve drafted several speeches and left them on your desk.  This morning, I borrowed your spare keys from Dis so that I could pick up a change of clothes,” he pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the suit without turning around, “and went shopping for the hangover essentials.”_

_Will carried a tray over to the coffee table and set it down.  It held a Styrofoam take-out container with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages and toast, a cup of orange juice, a bottle of water, and some aspirin.  “Greasy food... it’ll help settle your stomach,” he said at Thorin’s curious glance._

_He didn’t know what to say._

_William drew a little closer and leaned down.  “Since I’m resigning anyway...”  He pulled his fist back and punched Thorin in the jaw._

_Thorin recoiled and brought a hand to his smarting chin.  “OW!  What the hell....?”  That blow hurt more than he would have guessed coming from the smaller man._

_“You are **the** most rude, insufferable, stuck-up asshole that I’ve even met!” Will screamed.  Suddenly, he groaned and rested both of his hands on the left side of his ribs.  He panted and swayed, moving to lean against an armchair.  “Besides the fact that you’ve been nothing but cruel to me since I first started, now you’ve gone and made such a magnificent fool of yourself!  Do you have any idea what you’ve done?  All this time, you’ve been saying that you are not your grandfather - think about all the work you and your father have put into rebuilding the Lonely Mountain.  Do you really want to just throw it all away?  Why?  Because of a couple of jerks can’t see your true worth?  Or because the media is completely biased and does whatever it can to stir up controversy?  What about your family?  Dis and Frerin and Fili and Kili?  What about the hundreds of employees that come in every day because they **like** their jobs and refuse to leave because they believe in you and want to support you?  What about those of us who **know** you’re innocent, those of us who even believe your grandfather was innocent?”_

_Thorin was stunned into silence by this impassioned speech, and by the look of sheer disappointment on Will’s face._

_He ran his fingers through his untidy curls.  “I thought you were better than this,” he concluded softly.  “Maybe I was mistaken.  Anyway...” he straightened, but the effort seemed to cause him a great deal of pain.  “... I should go.  I haven’t had time to get myself checked out.  My resignation is on your desk.  I’ll see myself out.”_

_He limped to the door, but before he left, he concluded with a challenge glittering in his hazel eyes, “Prove me wrong, Thorin.  Prove them all wrong.”  And then he was gone._

“Hey, you okay?” Will asked.

Thorin shook his head to bring himself back to the present.  “Yeah.  Just thinking about ‘the incident’,” he said, as they had taken to calling it.

Will smirked a little.  “Which part?  When I yelled at you or when you came to my apartment to beg me to take my job back?”

“I didn’t _beg_ ,” Thorin argued, his face warming.  “I just... I had never been so wrong about someone in all my life.  I owed you an apology.”

“And you barely managed a week without me,” Will teased.

Thorin gazed at his assistant intently, smiling but devoid of the humorous edge.  “You’re right.  I never knew how much work you did for me.  I didn’t realize that I had come to rely  on you, that I needed you.”

William nudged his boss playfully.  “Isn’t that the understatement of the year?”

Thorin didn’t bite.  “It’s not just me.  Dis enjoys your company when you stop by, and you know how hard it is to impress her.  And the boys adore you.”

“And do you ‘adore’ me too, Mister Oakenshield?” Will laughed.

Thorin was quiet for a moment, long enough that Will stopped grinning.  “Sir?”

“You know, I think I do,” Thorin murmured, perfectly serious.

Will coughed awkwardly, his cheeks turning pink.  “I bet you say that to all your assistants,” he said lightly.

“Only the pretty ones,” Thorin’s mouth blurted for him.

They stared at one another, Will blushing furiously and Thorin in an equally shocked state.  William broke the contact first.  “Erm... well... on that note, maybe we should get down to business.  I-I mean, discuss your schedule.”

“Right,” Thorin agreed, still reeling from his own words.

Will cleared their dinner while Thorin returned to his desk.  He busied himself with switching his laptop out of sleep mode and opening his calendar, his thoughts a blur.  

Where did all that come from?  Had he really just started flirting with his assistant?  He kept his head lowered and clicked on a few emails to seem busy, but his eyes kept darting back to William when he wasn’t looking.

At first glance, Will probably wouldn’t be called handsome in the traditional, sex-crazed media sense of the word, but he wasn’t _un_ attractive.  Quite the contrary, he was actually very good-looking, in that charming, small town, boy-next-door sort of way.  With that cute button nose, expressive eyes and ears that were curiously a little pointed at the tips, it wasn’t really hard to understand why he might have overheard some of his employees confess to a crush on him.  Add to that his kind heart, quick wit, and sometimes surprising bursts of athleticism, and perhaps it wasn’t really unthinkable that even Thorin might develop some overly-friendly feelings for him.

But surely that would pass.  Thorin didn’t really get out much, and they spent so much time together.  He was probably just overthinking things.  Maybe if he made an effort to cultivate a social life, like his old combat buddy (and Balin’s younger brother) Dwalin was always nagging him about, he’d find that those tiny flutterings in his chest were merely to result of his limited view.  

Nodding to himself, Thorin focused his attention back on his emails.  Yes, that was all it was.

William collected his smart phone from his briefcase and sat down on one of the chairs in front of the desk across from Thorin.  It made a few muted beeps as he pulled up the scheduling apps he needed.

Thorin leaned back in his chair to watch and waited patiently.   Well, in any event, there was no harm in admiring the man’s features and enjoying his friendship.

“Okay...” Will drawled, looking over his calendar.  “Mister Dori Hadlow would like to come in and discuss the outstanding issues regarding his father’s estate; he mentioned wanting to liquidate some of the more valuable assets and possibly adding them to his younger brother’s college fund.  He’s available on Wednesday and Thursday afternoon.  He prefers Wednesday, but it would be tricky to find time since we don’t know how long the austerity meeting will go.”

“Agreed.  Thursday is a better bet.  See if he can meet at four.  If not, then we can reschedule a few of the early afternoon’s employee reviews for the following week to accommodate him.”

“Very well.”  Will typed the note into his phone.  “Next... oh.  Agent Smith phoned about a new lead in the investigation and wants to talk about options on how to proceed.  He can meet anytime, but we’ll need to coordinate with your attorneys to make sure that at least one of them can be there.”

Thorin stifled a sigh at the thought of _another_ conference with his lawyers.  “Call and find out what day would work for Nori Sharku to come in.  He’s the most shrewd and least annoying of the lot.”

Another note was added to Will’s list of tasks.  “Okay, let’s see...  Oh!  I almost forgot.  Fili’s violin recital is on Thursday night as well, so if Mr. Hadlow is going to come in that afternoon, we’ll have to make sure the appointment concludes by five-thirty at the latest.  It’s the last concert of the semester and Dis will kill you if you miss it again.”

Thorin visibly shuddered at the idea of facing his sister’s wrath.  “I know.  And I am looking forward to seeing Fili perform.  If you would, please impress upon Dori that he should come fully prepared with an agenda, and that I do not have time for idle chatter.  Er - in a more polite way, of course.”

Will smiled at that and amended his previous note.  “And finally, the annual fundraiser for the Children of War Foundation is on Friday.  Timothy Smaug has forwarded the finalized guest list, with the exception that you have not provided the name of your ‘plus one’.”  He looked up at Thorin, his gaze unreadable.  “We need to find you a date,” he stated, a little mechanically.

Thorin tilted his head back and groaned overdramatically.  “Can’t I just bring Dis or Frerin?” he pleaded.

William shook his head.  “Frerin is leaving for that trade show on Friday morning and Dis promised to take the boys to see that new fantasy movie.  I already asked her, and she won’t budge.”

“Well, what about you?” Thorin asked without thinking.

“Me?” Will blushed again.

Thorin tried to shrug indifferently.  “Sure.  It’s not like it’s unheard of to bring an employee to an event like this.”

Will sighed and shook his head.  “You forget: I’ll already be there.  I’m helping Tim coordinate the keynote speakers and performers.”

Thorin frowned at the way Will referred to Smaug.  There had been no intonation to his voice when he said it, but there was an implied level of comfort at the use of the shortened name.  As far as he could remember, the head of the Lonely Mountain’s charity organization was far too vain to allow anyone to be so casual with him.  It bothered him to think that the “Wyrm”, as Thorin called him in his head, was on a nickname-like basis with Will.

“Fine.  What do you suggest then?” he inquired waspishly.  

Will knit his brows as though confused, but he did not comment on the sudden change in mood.  “Well, sir,” he said, emphasizing the formality, likely to annoy him, “there are a number of young men and women who had called and expressed an interest in attending the event, but didn’t make the invite list on their own accord.  I can make some calls and see if someone would like to go as your guest.”  He starting looking through his saved emails.  “I’ll forward you the names.”

Thorin rubbed his eyes with his palms.  “No need.  You pick someone; I don’t really care.”

Will glared at him.  Thorin knew he hated it when he expressed indifference in his decisions.  “Do you at least have a preference on a man or woman?” he pressed.

Thorin yawned.  “Not really.  It’s not like it’s a real date or anything.  Maybe... find someone who’s likely to help the cause.  Oh, and preferably someone who won’t get on my nerves.”

Will grinned up at him.  “That first one shouldn’t be too hard, but I might have trouble fulfilling that last stipulation.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because _everyone_ gets on your nerves,” Will retorted.

Thorin smiled back, but he said seriously, “ _You_ don’t get on my nerves.”

Will laughed and stood up.  “That’s an outright lie and you know it.”  He let out a yawn of his own and stretched his arms over his head.  “Well, that was it I think.  Unless there’s something else, I’m gonna head home.  I’ll take care of the dishes in the morning.”  

Thorin shut down his computer and stood as well.  “That’ll be all, Will.  I’m packing it in as well.  If you don’t mind waiting a moment, I can walk you to your car.”

Will was already tucking his phone back into his briefcase.  “Thanks for the offer, Mister Oakenshield, but I actually took the bus today.”

Thorin shrugged his jacket on and thought quickly to deter his retreating assistant.  “Do you need a ride home?” he asked, trying not to sound hopeful.

William paused with his hand on the doorknob.  He glanced back and blinked a few times, his features registering further confusion.  “Um, no thanks.  A friend is picking me up.  He’s probably already waiting for me downstairs.  But thanks.”  He smiled tiredly.  “Good night, sir.”

Thorin nodded, masking his disappointment.  “Good night, Will.”  For some reason, the click on the closing door echoed in his head again, even though his headache had receded.  He shook himself from the uncharacteristic twinge piercing his gut and collected his own things, ready to put this long day behind him. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, I suppose I’ve grown somewhat fond of my boss as well. It took me weeks to break him in after all, and one can’t help but feel a certain sense of investment.”

II.

Thorin stood and gazed out over the sixth-storey window at the vast metropolis of Rhovanion City.  It was past mid-morning.  An autumn sun peaked between the skyscrapers to light the busy pavements below and warm the lingering chill from the night’s dreary rainstorm.  It had the potential to be a nice day, and he would have liked to enjoy it elsewhere.  Instead, he was stuck in this small, but secure conference room, waiting impatiently for the lead agent on the embezzlement investigation to make an appearance.

Seated at a table behind him was Nori Sharku, one of the attorneys contracted to the Lonely Mountain’s legal team, and (as he had only recently found out), Mister Dori Hadlow’s half-brother.  He was of an average height and build, with heavy-lidded eyes and auburn hair, styled and slicked back from his face.  

He had an almost seedy look about him, something that tended to make others distrust him, but Thorin was thus far satisfied with his work.  He’d heard that Nori’s ill-spent youth and choice of clients tended to put him at odds with his peers, and his family apparently, but he was quick on the uptake, well-versed in the laws of many different countries, and infinitely creative.  He didn’t speak much (a feature Thorin preferred when it came to lawyers), but when he did, one had to be careful to give his words full attention or risk falling into his verbal and legal trap.

The door opened abruptly, nearly startling Thorin.  He turned away from the window as Nori stood.

Two men entered.  Both of them were quite tall, but that was the extent of their similarities.  The elder of the two, Agent Elrond Smith, was wearing a sharp, formal suit that had clearly been tailored to fit his athletic physique.  He was clean shaven, and his dark chocolate hair was short and receding at the forehead.  There was an air of nobility in the way he moved, and his piercing gaze shone with a high intellect.

His companion, on the other hand, was dressed in plain khakis and a navy blue dress shirt.  He was a bit scruffier in appearance, with a two-day stubble around his mouth and jaw and shoulder-length, reddish-brown hair.  A pair of frameless glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, magnifying his kind, grey eyes.  He was carrying a slim laptop with a wireless mouse and a manila file.  

Elrond approached Thorin with a pleasant smile and held out his hand.  “Good morning, Mister Oakenshield.  I apologize for the delay; we’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”

Thorin nodded and shook his hand, but he did not return the expression.  He didn’t particularly dislike Elrond, but given his family’s history with law enforcement, he was inclined not to trust them.

The other man closed the door and set his things on the table.  

“And allow me to introduce my associate.  This is Agent Faramir Ithilien.  He works in the Cyber Crimes division.  Currently, he is overseeing the efforts to trace the electronic transfers of embezzled funds from the Lonely Mountain.”

“Are we to presume that you’ve made some progress then?” Nori asked after he and Thorin shook Faramir’s hand in greeting.

Agent Ithilien gave a small affirmative bob of his head while he set up his laptop.  “Indeed we have.  It’s taken a great deal of creative hacking to back-trace every digital trail left by the criminal, and many hours of data analysis, but my team has managed to eliminate some of the potential destination accounts for the stolen money.  As Agent Smith should have previously explained, the perpetrator had set up an extremely complex network of dummy accounts and firewalls to throw us off.  But we are confident that once we identify the primary endpoint and break through the firewalls, we’ll be able to link it back to its true source.”

Smith gestured to the chairs around the table, and all four of them sat down.  “Unfortunately, this process has uncovered some disturbing new information.  What we’ve found adds a significant threat that extends far beyond the security of your company.”

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked suspiciously.

Faramir handed Elrond the manila file without taking his eyes away from his computer screen.  Elrond opened it and flipped past the first few pages.  He removed a four-by-six photo that was paper clipped to a report and slid it across the table to Thorin.  “Do you recognize this man?”

Thorin picked it up and examined it.  What he saw in it caused his features to twist into a snarl, and his stomach lurched in fury.

The photo was of a tall, burly man of indeterminate age and nationality.  His skin was nearly pure white as though he rarely, if ever, ventured out in daylight.  This made the multitude of pink scars on his unpleasant face and thick neck stand out in contrast.  He was clothed in a camo uniform, and his head was shaved.  Thick, pouty lips were curled in a sneer, and small, deep-set eyes were narrowed with malice.  The expression was punctuated by the huge, wicked hunting knife in his right hand and the long, semi-automatic rifle hanging from a leather strap on his left shoulder.

“I take it you remember him,” Elrond extrapolated.

“Azog,” Thorin growled.  “He was responsible for the massacre at Eregion Valley.”  He would never forget the man.

“The what?” Nori asked, turning towards him.  Thorin passed him the photo.

“Eregion Valley was the site of a failed military operation ten years ago,” Elrond clarified.  “The specific details of the mission are classified, but for the purposes of this conversation, I will say that your client was included amongst a large number of soldiers who were deployed for the campaign, and one of the lucky few to return alive.

Elrond folded his hands on the table.  “The man in the picture, known only by the name “Azog”,  is the criminal that masterminded the events that resulted in the slaughter of thousands of soldiers and civilians alike, as well as incalculable destruction at Eregion.  And that is merely the tip of the iceberg, so to speak.  He’s been linked to a long list of atrocities, everything from illegal trade to genocide.  Azog is wanted by nearly every law enforcement organization in the world, and most of them have a hefty bounty on his head.”

Nori returned the photo to the agent.  “And what bearing does this have on the case at hand?”

Elrond returned the picture to its proper place in the file.  “Azog finances his illicit operations primarily through stolen funds, often obtained by extortion.  He forces the victims of his schemes to transfer large sums of money into various overseas accounts, not unlike the culprit in your case.  He has been immensely clever in his processes; he opens or creates electronic accounts just long enough for the deposit, and then closes them as soon as he withdraws the cash.  He covers his tracks well and is constantly on the move.  Usually, we are only able to link the stolen money and accounts to him well after the fact.”

“Other than verifying your incompetence when it comes to these types of cases, I still fail to see what any of it has to do with my client,” Nori said, sounding bored and unimpressed.

Both agents frowned at the accusation, but neither of them rose to the jab.

Instead, Faramir stopped typing on his laptop and gave Thorin his undivided attention.  “As Agent Smith said before, I’ve been tracking the Lonely Mountain’s embezzled funds.  Though we cannot yet link anything back to a specific individual, we did catch a major break.  We’ve recently uncovered evidence that one of the new accounts receiving the money belongs to Azog.”

Elrond nodded gravely.  “In other words, some of your company’s funds are going straight into Azog’s pocket.  We don’t believe he’s the primary culprit behind the embezzlement, but he is certainly involved, and getting a cut of the profits.  And those profits will naturally go to further his illegal actions.”

“NO!” Thorin shouted, jumping to his feet.  “That piece of filth has stolen far too much from me already!  He wiped out most of my unit and personally killed several good friends of mine, including my sister’s husband.  And now you tell me he’s stealing a portion of my livelihood as well?  He must be stopped!”  He banged both fists on the table and glared at the agents.

“Calm down, Thorin,” Nori said.  He set a hand on his client’s forearm in a silent command to sit back down.

Agent Smith, whom Thorin knew to be a combat veteran as well, nodded sympathetically.  “I can assure you that we are doing all we can to stop this,” he said.  “That’s part of the reason why we’ve called you in today.  This development has added a whole new layer to the original investigation, but our team has come up with a possible solution to the most likely scenario of how this will play out.”

Thorin leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.  “I am listening,” he rumbled.

“According to our data, Azog is only receiving a small portion of the embezzled money,” Faramir explained.  “However, everything in his profile indicates that he is greedy, possesses a dominant personality and prefers to work alone.  He will not be satisfied hiding in the shadows and receiving a paltry sum as a result of someone else’s efforts.  Given your own history with him and taking his typical M.O. into consideration suggests that he may approach you directly and demand that you transfer an exorbitant lump figure into one of his overseas accounts.  He will secure your compliance by abducting and threatening harm to someone close to you, probably a family member.”

“I will kill him if he goes anywhere near my family!” Thorin snarled.

Elrond did not appear to disagree with Thorin’s declaration.  “Obviously, we have no intention of taking any risks with your loved ones.  Nonetheless, we _do_ want him to come to you, and we want you to give him what he asks.”  He raised a hand to placate Thorin and Nori’s immediate and justified outrage.  “Hear us out, please.  What we’ve got in mind will present us with a singular opportunity to catch both Azog and possibly the criminal in the embezzlement case.  And it will not cost you anything.  Faramir, if you would…”

Agent Ithilien spun his laptop around and angled it so that all four of them could see the screen.  A photo of a beautiful, smiling bride with long, strawberry-blonde hair adorned the background, though the multitude of icons littered over it obscured the picture somewhat.

“Lovely woman,” Nori said.  “Your wife?”

Faramir hummed and grinned as he maneuvered the little white arrow with the mouse towards an icon that looked like an acorn .  “Her name is Éowyn.  I’m actually going to borrow her for this demonstration, but first, let me explain the premise.”

“This,” he began, circling the acorn symbol with the arrow, “is a brand new tracking program that we’ve developed.  It acts as both a decoy and a “Trojan Horse” of sorts.  It works by mirroring the functions of whatever system we tell it to without _actually_ performing them.  For example…” Faramir double-clicked on it and an email account popped up on the screen.  “I’ve designed this version to emulate my work email.  Now let’s say that Agent Smith here wants me to forward him that background photo of my wife for some insidious purpose.”

Elrond half-smiled at that, but Thorin failed to see the amusement of it.

“Instead of using my true email account, I’ll use the decoy I’ve installed.  I’ll prepare the email just like I normally would.”  They watched as he selected the “Compose New Email” function, designated Elrond as the recipient, and added the picture of Éowyn as an attachment.  Then he hit “Send”.

A few seconds later, a buzzing sound from somewhere on Elrond’s person disrupted the quiet.  He shifted to retrieve a phone from the pocket of his pants.  He swiped his finger across the screen a few times and turned it around to show Thorin and Nori.  His Inbox was open and displaying that he had a new message from Faramir.

“You can see that it was sent without incident, and it appears as though the attachment is there.  But when he actually tries to access it…”

Elrond tapped the file to open it, but instead of the picture, there was a colorful little animation of an acorn blossoming into an oak tree.    

“As soon as he received the file, the program imbedded his system with a unique tracking number that can only be removed by the programmer, which is myself in this case.  It branches out from wherever it was initially received and will make its way into the rest of any programs connected to this account.  From now on, I’ll be able to monitor and follow anything that he does with his email.  I can read his all of his correspondence, or hack into the GPS system to pinpoint his location if he sends or receives anything at all.”

Thorin raised a brow.  “And… you can use this program of yours to find Azog and his co-conspirator?” he concluded doubtfully.

“Yes,” Faramir assured him.  “With your permission, I’d like to alter the program to simulate the Lonely Mountain’s financial accounts and download it onto your computer.  If Azog should try to extort money, you would open this program and use the same procedures as normal to transfer whatever he asks for into the account of his choosing.  When he checks his account, it will look like you’ve made the deposit, but in reality, he’ll have downloaded our tracking software.  We’ll also install an alert system in the program so that we are notified immediately if you use it.”  

Elrond set aside his phone.  He leaned forward with his elbows on the table and pressed the tips of fingers together.  “We truly hope that the precautions will prove to be unnecessary.  As much as we wish to capture Azog, we would not see harm come to anyone or to your company.  But we need to prepare for every eventuality, and if we’re going to put protection measures in place, we might as well lay traps of our own.”

Thorin and Nori glanced at one another dubiously.  

“That all _sounds_ very well, but I for one have a few questions, and more than a few concerns,” Nori said, speaking for his client.

The agents nodded and Elrond gestured for him to continue.

“First of all, you stated that this is a new program, which leads me to assume that it has not been tested in a real case scenario yet.  If that is so, you cannot be completely sure that it will be successful.  And in order to create the version needed for this situation, you would need further access to the Lonely Mountain’s financial records and accounts.  I believe my client has been more than accommodating in sharing the pertinent documentation, but can you guarantee that the development of this program will not compromise the privacy and integrity of the information?”

“We will comply with whatever you require to safeguard your company’s records,” Faramir promised.

“How reassuring,” Nori yawned sarcastically.  “I would also like to point out that this seems designed specifically for Azog’s capture.  But there’s still the embezzler to deal with, and your plan doesn’t seem to account for him.  How is this going to help with the original investigation?  Better yet, how do you propose to install this program without him becoming aware of it, considering the skill it’s taken to hack into the company’s systems and evade capture so far?”

Faramir seemed to deflate a bit, but Elrond was not phased.  “Your concerns are noted, but you must remember that this idea is but one small portion of our efforts to bring both these criminals to justice.  Ithilien’s team is still working tirelessly to break through the firewalls, and we have several other strategies already in place to forward the investigation and protect your interests.”

“And those would be...” Nori pressed.

Elrond smirked.  “I’m afraid that I cannot reveal all the specifics of an ongoing case.  Doing so could endanger everyone involved and waste months of hard work.”

“Yet you want my client to give full cooperation to such ludicrous conspiracies while remaining the dark?  How can you expect us to trust your word when you withhold information?” Nori demanded.

Faramir and Elrond both straightened and began to argue, but Thorin sighed and closed his eyes to think, tuning them out.

He didn’t care for the idea at all.  And though he supposed that it was necessary, he also didn’t like the insinuation that the agents had other plots that he didn’t know about.  Still, as frustrated as it was, he just wanted this whole nightmare over with.

And if he was honest with himself, he would be glad of an opportunity to face Azog again.

“Enough, Nori,” Thorin interrupted his attorney’s current rebuttal to whatever Elrond had said.  He sighed again, then sat up straight and faced Agent Ithilien.  “Tell me _everything_ about this program.”

* * *

III.

“Do you really think it’ll come to all that?” William asked.  His hands twisted a paper napkin in what Thorin knew to be a nervous gesture.  “I mean… will Azog take such a gamble with you, given your last encounter?”

Thorin puffed out a furious breath.  He picked up his Styrofoam cup and glared at the contents.  “Doesn’t matter.  I’ll be ready either way.”  He tipped his head back and drained the last bit of his hot chocolate.

He and Will were seated across from one another at a round table in the student cafeteria/common area of Fili’s school.  They had chosen a spot where foot traffic was low, discreetly tucked away in a dimly lit corner so that Thorin, who was fairly recognizable thanks to his media appearances, would not draw too much attention.

Most of Fili’s recital had been very enjoyable.  At fourteen years old, Thorin’s elder nephew was already a dedicated and accomplished violinist.  He had performed several times throughout the evening as part of a few mixed ensembles, finally culminating with a flawless solo rendition of a classical piece about a lark, followed by a medley from his favorite video game series.  They were unusual choices, but both showcased his talent well.  The first had the audience (Thorin included) in awe and tearful, while the latter excited the children that recognized the tunes.

Thorin had been attentive and excited to watch him perform, but he had lost interest and became distracted by the events of the week once Fili’s contributions were over.  He couldn’t leave, as the entire family was going out for dinner after the concert, but Dis gave Thorin permission to skip the rest of the show so that he could clear his head.

William, who got on well with the boys and Dis, had been invited along for the night, but he was only planning on attending the concert portion.  Yet when Thorin ducked out, Will followed and offered a listening ear.

They had wandered around the massive cafeteria for a few minutes, looking at the colorful displays set up around the room.  Various student clubs were selling snacks, drinks, and handmade trinkets to help fund their extracurricular activities.  Thorin bought hot chocolate for both of them from the band kids, and they soon got to talking about the investigation and the generics of Smith’s revelation regarding Azog.  The agents insisted that he tell no one of the decoy program though, so he was intentionally vague about the plan when he told Will of their meeting.

“But you said that Azog is really dangerous.  The agents are going to protect you, aren’t they?  I mean... they can’t expect you to take such a major risk on your own, do they?”

Thorin rolled his eyes.  “They offered, but I’m not about to place my life or the lives of my family in their inept hands.”

“But...”

“I’ve made my own arrangements,” Thorin assured him.  “I called some old friends from my army days and asked if they’d be willing to stay with the family for a while.  Dwalin - he’s Balin’s younger brother - is going to stay with Dis and the boys, and Bifur Kircher is going to crash with Frerin.  Both of them still work for the military actually, so I know they can handle themselves.”

William nodded, placated for the moment.  “And what about you?”

“Me?” Thorin inquired, raising a brow.

“Yeah.  I mean, you’re Azog’s _real_ target.  So you’ve got someone to protect you as well, right?” Will glared at him as though daring him to say otherwise.

Thorin hmphed.  “I don’t need protection.  I can take care of myself.”  He frowned.  “Although, come to think of it...”

Will bit his lip.  “What is it?”

Thorin crossed his arms and rested them on the table.  “It’s probably nothing.  It’s just... when I told Smith I didn’t need anyone looking out for me, he said something about it being “too late for that”.  And he mentioned that they had other plans, other means of resolving this whole fiasco.”  

William’s forehead furrowed in thought.  “What do you suppose he meant by that?”

Thorin shook his head.  “Can’t say, but I suppose it makes no difference.  If Azog _does_ try anything, I’ll finish him once and for all.”

Will stared at him incredulously for a moment.  “You _want_ him to come after you.”  It wasn’t a question.

Thorin held his assistant’s gaze.  He could see anger in his frame, but his eyes shone with deep concern.  He blew out a long breath.  “William, Azog killed most of my unit during the Eregion Valley mission.”

“I know; you told me that before, but...”

“Did I tell you that Azog eviscerated our commander?  Or that one of my men was blown to bits by a landmine?  His head fell at my feet; I still remember the expression of fear, forever frozen on his face.  Most of the others were gunned down or dragged away and beaten to death,” Thorin argued passionately.

 “I’m sorry to hear that, Mister Oakenshield,” William winced, slightly abashed.  “And I understand how you feel, but…”

“Do you?” Thorin interrupted, sneering defensively.  “You understand the horrors of war?  Of watching people you care about die in front of you while you’re helpless to do anything?”  He didn’t mean to be so snarky, but he hated it when people offered empty condolences or presumed to comprehend his experiences.  “You know what it’s like to endure crippling guilt and recurring nightmares?”

Will’s eyes flashed dangerously as he leaned forward.  “Actually, yes; I do.”  He shook his head.  “Well, okay; you’re right – I don’t know what it’s like to be in combat the way you were, but violence isn’t unique to war or to you.”  He backed off a little and huffed.  “My parents were murdered in front of me when I was thirteen.”

Thorin’s mouth fell open.  “O-oh.  I... um...”

“So believe me when I say that it might not be exactly the same, but I do understand the blood and the nightmares and the guilt.”  Will’s clenched fists tightened until his knuckles turned white.  “I also understand the desire for justice, or vengeance, I suppose.”  He took a very deep breath.  “But trust me: it’s not worth the cost.”

Thorin looked away and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling embarrassed and chastised (again) for making assumptions without thought.  “Will, I’m sorry about your parents.  And for going off on you like that.”  He glanced back in time to catch him nodding in thanks.  “And if it makes you feel better, I have no intention to going out of my way to look for Azog.  But I’m also not going to alter my life or cower in fear because of him.”

William sighed and ran his fingers through his messy curls.  “I know that.  I just… promise me that you won’t do anything stupid or reckless either.”  His expression melted to one of quiet contentment.  “I rather like my job, you know.  I’d hate to have to find a new one so soon.”

Thorin pretended to look hurt.  “Oh, so that’s how it is, huh?  You’re only concerned about your job security?”

Will shrugged and picked up his own cup of hot chocolate.  Then he smirked as he swirled the liquid.  “Well, I suppose I’ve grown somewhat fond of my boss as well.  It took me weeks to break him in after all, and one can’t help but feel a certain sense of investment.”  He finished his drink while Thorin laughed.

“Seriously, though...” he admitted, “I would be terribly upset if something happened to you.”  He reached across the table and set a hand on Thorin’s forearm.  “So please - don’t take any unnecessary risks.  Okay?”

Thorin glanced down at Will’s hand, surprised that the warm weight of it should make him feel so cherished.  He moved his own hand to rest on top of William’s, his thumb moving to stroke the wrist.  “I won’t.  I promise.”

Will blushed, but he did not retract his appendage.  A shy smile slowly stretched across his lips, but then it seemed resigned when something over Thorin’s shoulder caught his eye, causing him to pull away.

“Uncle Thorin!”

Thorin turned around and waved to the golden-haired boy striding towards him.  He was carrying a violin case in one hand and a folder of sheet music in the other.  Two adults and another young boy, all bearing a strong resemblance to Thorin, followed behind him.

“Fili!  You did very well tonight.”  He stood up to give his reluctant nephew a hug.  “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered.

The teenager was quick to wriggle out of his uncle’s grasp, but he was grinning shyly.  “Thanks.”

The other boy, his dark hair and explosive energy contrasting starkly against his elder brother’s poise, skipped over and threw his arms around Thorin’s waist.  “Wasn’t Fili amazing, Uncle?  You think I’ll be as good as him someday?”

Thorin ruffled his hair and chuckled.  “Perhaps, if you practice as much as he does, Kili.”  Like his own younger brother, Frerin, Kili looked up to his elder sibling and tried to emulate him in some ways.  However, his lackadaisical nature ensured that it took a great deal more effort to cultivate the necessary discipline to master what he had set his mind on.

As if on cue, Frerin guffawed and shook his head.  “Practice?  Who wants to waste time doing that?  Don’t listen to your stiff, brooding uncle, kid; listen to your fun one!  There’s more to life than being locked in a room squeaking out tunes or studying!”

Dis, the youngest of the three Durin-Oakenshields and mother of the two boys, smacked him on the back of the head.  “Frerin!” she hissed.  “Don’t just dismiss Fili’s passions like that!  He’s self-conscious enough as it is.”

Frerin rubbed his scalp, mussing up his already untidy, black locks.  “I didn’t mean it like that!  I just think he should get out more, you know?  Join a sport or get a girlfriend or boyfriend or _something_ , just to get out of his shell a little.”

“He’s fine as he is.  Don’t listen to him, Fili,” Dis said, turning to face her son, but he was no longer standing next to Thorin.  “Fili?”  She glanced around.

He hadn’t heard anything they’d said.  After Thorin had released him, the boy had gone over to William, leaning in to conspire with the man in hushed undertones.  Will had put a finger to his lips and then guided Fili a few feet away from the gathering so that they would not be overheard.

“What do you suppose that’s about?” Frerin wondered, watching them.

Dis glowered at him.  “I don’t know, but you should be glad that Will was here to talk to him.  I would have skinned you alive if you had upset him.”

While Thorin fully agreed with his sister, his own curiosity was burning with Frerin’s.  His assistant and nephew looked positively mischievous at the moment.

William had met the boys when he had stopped by Thorin’s house to drop off some reports.  Fili and Kili had happened to be staying with him for the weekend while their mother was away indulging in some much-needed alone time, and Will’s dry humor and genuine interest in their lives won them over immediately.  Will had mentioned that he had his own young nephew, whom he loved as fiercely as Thorin loved his, so he used to dealing with children.

While Thorin was busy looking over the reports, Will entertained them with some rather outlandish stories from his rural upbringing, and even stayed long enough to help them with their homework.  The boys talked about him long after he’d left and afterwards begged Thorin to invite him along on casual outings.

Fili in particular seemed to really connect with William, and had even asked for permission to call and text him.  He had already earned Thorin’s trust by then, though Will was sensitive and responsible enough to always consult with Dis about any contact they had.

Like her sons, Dis appreciated Will’s humor and intelligence, though ultimately what she liked most was that he was more than willing to put her stubborn older brother in his place.  She was sold on his character when Thorin reluctantly told her about being punched in the face following “the incident”, and likewise encouraged his friendships with their family.

Whatever they were discussing concluded when Fili jumped excitedly and hugged William, who simply laughed and patted his head.  Then the two of them rejoined the group.

“What are you two plotting now?” Thorin asked with a raised brow.

Will and Fili exchanged a look.  “Nothing,” they said together.

“I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough,” Dis remarked, seemly sharing a secret with them.  “But in the meantime, I think we ought to be going.”

“Yeah,” Frerin asserted, rubbing his stomach.  “I’m starving.”

William stood beside Thorin as he zipped up his jacket.  “I need to be off as well.  Great job again, Fili.  And thanks for inviting me, Dis.”

“Speaking of invitations,” she hurried, “did Thorin tell you that it’s his birthday next weekend?”

Will shot him a surprised and irritated glare, but something about it seemed exaggerated.  “No; he failed to mention that.”

Thorin cleared his throat and looked away when Dis smirked at him.  “Well, it is.  And we’re having a little party for him over at our place on Saturday - just a dinner with family and close friends.  You will join us, won’t you?”

Kili bounced to Will’s side.  “Oh yes!  Please come, Mister Took!”

Fili and Frerin nodded their agreement.    

William smiled at them.  “I would love to.  That is, as long as Mister Oakenshield wishes it.”  He looked up at him expectantly and took a step closer.

Thorin felt the skin of his neck heat up at Will’s affectionate, yet questioning gaze.  He hummed and nodded once.  “Y-yeah.  Of course.  I would be honored if you would come.”

“Okay then; I’ll be there.”  He turned back to Fili and Kili.  “Would you two mind helping me pick out a present for your uncle?” he asked.

The boys nearly shouted “Yeah!” in enthusiastic unison, while Thorin insisted, “You don’t have to…” at the same time.

“Good,” Will said, ignoring Thorin’s protest.  “Then I’ll call your mom about it later.  But now I really must be going.”  He shook hands with Frerin, hugged Dis, and fist-bumped Fili and Kili.  Finally, he set a hand on Thorin’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze and sharing a warm glance with him.  “Good night, everyone.”

“Goodnight, Will!”

“Bye, Mister Took!”

Dis put an arm around both of her sons and shepherded them along in another direction.  Thorin and Frerin fell in step behind him.

Frerin elbowed Thorin in the side.  “Hey!  What’s going on with you two?”

Thorin shoved his hands in his pockets.  “Nothing,” he growled, ducking his head to conceal his reddened face.

But his younger brother was not fooled.  He jogged a few paces ahead of Thorin and then turned to walk backwards with a wolfish grin.  “Didn’t look like nothing…”

“Shut up, Frerin.”  Thorin hurried after Dis and the boys, giving him a wide berth and pointedly refusing to acknowledge his suggestive leer.  

He heard Frerin laugh, and his scowl deepened.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not a computer expert by any means, so I doubt that stuff I wrote in the first half is accurate or possible. We’ll just pretend that it is. 
> 
> To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will turned his head to stare fixedly at the side wall. “Oh come on, sir. Don’t pretend you don’t know what a catch you are. Anyone lucky enough to spend an evening with you would be stupid not to try for more.”

IV.

Contrary to popular belief, Thorin wouldn’t necessarily refer to himself as “asocial”.  He did not lack confidence in meeting new people and didn’t actively avoid social gatherings to any great extent.  He was not overly fearful of rejection, and he didn’t become anxious or depressed in public settings or parties.  And when it came to putting himself out there, meeting new people or mingling, he might admit that he found it awkward at times, but certainly not unbearable.

He would concede to the idea that he leaned more towards being introverted in that he needed time alone to recharge.  He valued routine, the status quo he had built his life upon, as well as a sense of privacy.  And he didn’t like change unless he had time to adequately prepare himself for it.  

He sometimes found new experiences and people interesting, but he was also quick to form opinions and slow to change them.  He was naturally wary of others, and it took a great deal of time and effort to earn his trust.  

Because of all this, it was with a sense of trepidation that he began to get ready for the Children of War Fundraiser Gala.  He started with a long, hot shower, hoping that it would help him relax enough to make for decent company.  He wanted to be able to socialize at the party without seeming too detached from the night’s proceedings.  At the very least, he would need to go around and greet those who would be more inclined to make a donation if he spoke to them directly.  

The Lonely Mountain's annual charity event was a formal, black tie affair, attended primarily by socialites, affluent community leaders, politicians, wealthy business owners, and celebrities.  A carefully crafted line-up of influential speakers would take the stage to highlight the organization’s purpose, future goals and ideas.  The monotony of veiled pleas for monetary gifts would be broken up by entertainers: comedians, musicians, and a magician (of all things), but all were loyal to the cause and happy to lend their support.

Dinner was being catered by a local five-star restaurant, Firebeard’s Ladle.  The world famous chef, Bombur Hunter, had designed and oversaw the preparation of a full and delectable menu that would satisfy even the fussiest eaters.  Furthermore, a fully stocked bar with all manner of alcohol would also be provided in the hopes that it would loosen wallets and as well as inhibitions.

Per tradition, Thorin would be the first to speak, welcoming the assembled throng of guests and recollecting the origins of the charity.  He was an excellent presenter, articulate and passionate, though he had been told he could ramble without making a point if left unchecked.  Thankfully, he had greatly improved after learning of William’s talent for writing and allowing him to compose or at least edit his speeches.

Will had delivered the finalized address and the night’s itinerary to him in the office early that morning.  He had also chosen then to enlighten him on the identity of his date, thus ensuring that it would be far too late to change it.    

_Thorin stared at him incredulously.  “Really?  Out of all the people on that list, you decided to go with Lobelia Bracegirdle?”_

_Will blinked at him innocently, but there was a barely-suppressed maniacal grin on his lips.  “Why not?  She’s a very popular actress right now…”_

_“With a reputation for being an insufferable diva,” Thorin interrupted.  “She perpetuates all of the worst stereotypes of our country, and demands outrageous salaries for the smallest public appearances.  What is this going to cost us, besides my sanity?”_

_“Nothing,” Will promised.  “She just about fainted at the chance to go out with one of Rhovanion City’s most eligible bachelors – actually squealed at the top of her lungs.”  He winced at the memory and rubbed his right ear.  “I still haven’t got full hearing back,” he groused._

_“She does know that it’s not a real date, right?” Thorin implored dismally.  “You did tell her that it’s just for the fundraiser?”_

_“Of course!” Will replied, a little incensed.  “I was very specific about the request and explained that the purpose of the evening was to raise money for the foundation.  But I can’t control what she thinks or does.”  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.  “Besides, I can’t really blame her for getting her hopes up.”_

_Thorin rolled his eyes.  “Oh really?  And why is that, exactly?”_

_Will turned his head to stare fixedly at the side wall.  “Oh come on, sir.  Don’t pretend you don’t know what a catch you are.  Anyone lucky enough to spend an evening with you would be stupid not to try for more.”   _

Thorin smiled at the memory and turned off the water.  Will had become adorably flustered after that, and had made a hasty retreat before Thorin could ask him to clarify.

It probably didn’t mean anything, certainly not what he might hope.

He stepped out of his shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and proceeded to the wide mirror over the sink.  The steam from the hot water had covered the surface of the mirror with a thick layer of condensation.  He used a hand towel to wipe away enough of it to see his reflection, and then took a moment to consider himself.

Thorin kept himself in great shape, partially for vanity’s sake, but it was also a measure of protection.  He wanted to stay physically strong so that he could keep himself and his family safe.  It was those protective instincts that had led him to join the military after he’d graduated secondary school, and he didn’t feel inclined to change it when he retired from active duty a few years ago.

Military codes had also dictated his hair style for many years, and he had grown used to having it short.  That had been a major departure from his youth; it had been quite long up until his final year of school.  As he turned his head to look at himself from different angles, he began to wonder if maybe he should grow it out again, though perhaps not as long as before.  He was certain he could still pull it off, but the downside was that it would require more care than his current, professional look.

Thorin shrugged to himself and ran a comb through his hair, deciding to think on it later.  After that, he trimmed his beard, brushed his teeth, and dabbed on a hint of cologne, an expensive blend with the earthy scents he tended to favor.

Satisfied with his appearance, he returned to the bedroom.  On the bed, he had set out a full tuxedo, royal blue tie, black socks, and a pair of black Oxford lace-ups.  Unfortunately, something ivory and covered in fur had decided to curl up on his double-breasted jacket.

“Orcrist,” he growled, “Get off.”

His seven-year old Labrador lifted her head and barked once, her jaw hanging open in an oblivious grin.

Thorin pointed to the floor.  “Down.”

She tilted her head, but obeyed when he repeated himself.

He shook his head as he picked up the jacket.  “Hair all over my suit,” he gripped.  He took a lint roller to his clothes and hurried to get dressed before she got any ideas about sitting on them again.

Orcrist sat in front of him on the floor while he tied his shoes, tail wagging and tongue dangling out excitedly.  He usually took her for a walk after dinner, and she was undoubtedly expecting it.

He smiled apologetically.  “Sorry girl, but you’re going to have to wait until I get back tonight,” he said, scratching her ears.

Thorin checked his watch.  Five-thirty; a limo, rented just for the occasion, was due to arrive any minute now, and then they would head over to the River Running Regency Suites  to pick up Miss Bracegirdle.  

He glanced out of the window facing the street while he fixed his tie.  A few of his neighbors were taking their own evening walks and some children were riding their bikes back and forth down the street.  A silver SUV drove past, and the limo appeared a moment later.  The kids stopped and pointed excitedly.

Thorin quickly put on a black leather jacket, double-checked that he had his wallet and keys, and gave Orcrist one more pat on the head.  She followed him down the stairs, whining the whole way.

He sighed, gave himself a final once-over in the hallway mirror, and headed out into the fray.

* * *

All of Thorin’s worst fears were realized in a matter of moments upon meeting Lobelia.  First of all, she was dressed quite inappropriately, wearing a scandalously short, blood-red cocktail dress designed for a woman at least fifteen years her junior, a black fur shawl, and multi-colored feather earrings.  Now Thorin had no issues with men or women flaunting their figures, but it was possible to do so while maintaining one’s integrity and awareness of their age, and at thirty-nine, she had no business wearing that little number.  And after introductions, she gushed and flirted like a teenage fangirl, but when he didn’t respond, she began bragging about her own accomplishments, including her latest movie appearance.

“Of course, the script was absolutely atrocious, and they only provided me with five assistants - _five_!  Can you believe that?  Though I guess that’s to be expected with such a pitiful budget.  Anyway, my point is that it wouldn’t have even been _considered_ for an award without me, so I deserve more recognition for it, don’t you agree?”

Thorin had stopped listening long ago, but he was well practiced in feigning attention.  He nodded and hummed in all the right places, secretly hoping that his monosyllabic responses would reveal his disinterest without him needing to actually say it, but that only seemed to encourage her.

“And that Arwen Undómiel... she had the _gall_ to thank me in her best costumer designer speech...”

Thorin stared away from her out of his window.  If he managed to survive the evening, he and Will were going to have a long talk about this.  He had specifically told him to choose someone who wouldn’t get on his nerves, but he felt sure that Will had done the exact opposite - forcing him into the company of the most annoying shrew he could find.  Precisely _why_ he would do such a thing was a complete mystery though.

He breathed in relief when the limo turned a corner and the Greenwood Auditorium and Country Club came into view, its monumental spires contrasting elegantly with an immaculate and modern landscape.  In truth, the Greenwood more closely resembled an ancient castle than a concert hall from the outside, but the inside boasted all of the most impressive and state-of-the-art amenities available to its exclusive clientele.  Aside from the auditorium, which was rented out for a variety of events (including The Lonely Mountain’s annual fundraiser), the club portion had athletic facilities, dining halls, spa services, and an extensive winery.  

Thorin’s forebears were once members of the club, and there had been friendship between them and the owners, the Greenlee family.  But that was one of a number of things that changed when Thròr was arrested on suspicion of embezzlement.  Many had turned their backs on the Durins then, and not all hurts were mended.

Thranduil Greenlee, the current owner, was the politician who took great joy from slandering Thorin and his family.  Thorin’s hatred for him might even rival the one he held for Azog, but as they both held powerful positions in the community, they could not always avoid dealing with one another.  The Greenwood was the only auditorium in Rhovanion City large enough to accommodate the Children of War’s event needs, and the Lonely Mountain did have the necessary means to rent it.  Thranduil despised Thorin in turn, for reasons that extended beyond the Thròr debacle, but he was not above accepting payment from him for his facilities.

Their limo followed a line of others down a long driveway that was bordered by low, clipped hedges.  It proceeded straight up to the main entrance, curved around a marble fountain glowing with a kaleidoscope of colored lights before continuing on towards a stadium sized parking lot.  

Once they had reached the front doors, their driver set the parking brake and dutifully hopped out to open the car door for Thorin and Lobelia.

“Oh my...” Lobelia breathed, looking up and around the beautifully built balconies and arched windows, some of them preserving their original stained glass designs.

Even Thorin had to admire the grandeur of it all, but it was not entirely to his tastes.  He appreciated antiquity as much as the next person, but it lacked the comfortable feel of a personal touch.  His expression was impassive as he offered his arm to Miss Bracegirdle and led her to the door, allowing her to gape unashamedly at their surroundings.

Event workers opened the tall oak double doors, issuing them into a grand entrance hall.  To their immediate right was the coat-check desk, tended by a kindly old gentleman who gave them their tickets and a youth in his teens that was quick and efficient in handling the guests’ belongings.  Restrooms were located on the left, and another hall continued off in that direction.  

In the center of the room was a wide, open staircase, layered in a rich, emerald green carpet.  A landing gave pause halfway up before splitting into separate spirals to the left and right, each ending on either side of the second level.  Another set of doors waited at the top; these opened into the auditorium’s massive antechamber.

The antechamber was nearly half the size of the auditorium itself.  It possessed a high vaulted ceiling and green marble pillars in each corner.  There was a running theme of ivy vines and leaves interwoven in the décor of the room, weaving around the pillars and carved into the paneling.

Several more doors lined all sides of this room.  Most of these led to other areas of the club, though one on each side issued into halls that circled the auditorium and led to the backstage areas.  A final set of double doors with a single door on either side of them separated the antechamber from the concert hall.

Lobelia squealed in delight at the assembled congregation loitering there.  Already, Thorin recognized the faces of many powerful leaders, such as Glóin Callenton, financial wizard and CEO of Erebor Bank and Treasury, as well as celebrities like singer/songwriter Maglor Curufinwë.

A tug on his arm interrupted Thorin’s observations.  “Are we just going to stand here or are you going to introduce me around?” Lobelia demanded impatiently.  Her eyes scanned the room, but lingered on those men known to be the wealthiest.  

Thorin cleared his throat to cover up a grunt of displeasure.  “I must find my assistant so that I may get ready for my opening remarks, but I’ll show you around while I search for him.”

Together, Thorin and Lobelia meandered around the room, engaging various individuals in polite small talk.  He noted with some relief that as they moved along, she seemed far less inclined to grip his arm or lean towards him possessively, unless they were speaking with some of the more attractive socialites; in that case, she was unbearably flirtatious with him, batting her overstated eyelashes and resting her head on his shoulder.

Thorin could feel his jaw beginning to lock up from clenching his teeth to suppress his temper.  Her lofty, simpering voice was excruciatingly shrill, and her inane remarks were embarrassing.  With each introduction, she quickly launched into some story that was probably supposed to showcase her sophistication, but really just revealed her avarice.

“I could tell that the spoons, at least, weren’t _real_ silver…”

If he hadn’t already been the subject of controversy, his “choice” in companionship for the evening was guaranteed to make others question his stability.

“Mister Oakenshield!”

Thorin perked up at the sound of a familiar voice and jerked towards it, pulling Lobelia with him.  He could just barely see a mop of curly hair darting through the crowd, and he strove to meet it.

When William finally came into full view, Thorin stopped short, his breath caught in his throat.

He’d seen his assistant in a variety of settings and the appropriate attire for each, from his everyday business suits to the khaki/sweater combos he favored outside of work, but this was the first time he’d seen him in full formal wear.  Like every other male in the room, he was wearing a tuxedo: a tailcoat style jacket with a shawl lapel, black bow tie, sleek trousers and a pair of black slip-ons with a heel.  It fit his small frame well enough, though the white dress shirt looked just a tad too loose; Thorin had to question again if he had lost weight recently.

In any event, he was utterly pleasing to look at.  His cheeks were pleasantly flushed and his full lips were parted as he panted, both the likely result of rushing around to usher everything and everyone into their proper places.  He had left his hair loose instead of attempting to tie it back; the tips of his wavy strands just brushed the tops of his shoulders.  Some suppressed, starving creature in Thorin’s heart wondered if the golden locks felt as soft as they looked.

Will looked utterly relieved when they met.  He was holding a clipboard and a marker.  “There you are!  I’ve been looking all over for you.  We’re getting ready to start; I’ve got to get you to the stage.  Oh, but first we should escort Miss Bracegirdle to your table.”  He nodded politely to the woman.

She reciprocated with a disgusted glare.  “Surely you can’t mean to dump me off by myself?  How will it look if I’m sitting all alone?  I thought Thorin and I would be together the whole night!”

Will gave her a frosty smile.  “Mister Oakenshield will join you as soon as he’s finished giving the welcome and introduction.  And you will not be alone; each table seats six.  We’ve ensured that the both of you are acquainted with the others at your table.  You are with…” He consulted a seating arrangement on his clipboard.  “… Doctor Óin Callenton and his wife, Mister Otho Sackville, and Miss Esmeralda Brandybuck.”  He glanced up at Lobelia.  “I believe you’ve met Miss Brandybuck before, have you not?  I assumed you would comfortable sitting with her.”

“You can’t be serious!” Lobelia shrieked.  “That woman is absolutely insufferable!  I can’t be seen with that mousy little wretch!”

“Miss Brandybuck is a perfectly lovely woman,” William retorted, his smile disappearing entirely.  “What’s more, she is Mister Sackville’s date for the evening, so you would do well not to insult her in his presence.”

“Surely the seating arrangement can be changed,” she pleaded, looking now to Thorin.  “You are the head of the company and all its subsidiaries; you can order someone to switch places with us.”

Thorin shook his head.  “I’m afraid that in this matter, I am entirely at the mercy of the event coordinators.  And even if I were not, Doctor Callenton and Miss Brandybuck are known to me, and I would be glad of their company.”  His regarded her with a stern expression.  “Remember that you are here as my guest, and I have no obligation to accommodate you.  If you find the conditions of the evening to be intolerable, I am sure William can arrange to have you returned to your hotel.”

Since she had been entirely clueless as to his growing dislike of her, Lobelia was visibly taken aback by his seemingly sudden change in mood.

The grin returned to Will’s lips.  “Well, if that’s settled, then we really must hurry.”  He moved to stand beside Thorin, and set a guiding hand on his upper back, applying pressure to indicate their direction.  “This way, if you please.”

Thorin resolutely ignored the warm tingles emanating from the brief contact.  Really now, he was thirty-five, not some hormone-driven teenager with his first crush.  He shouldn’t think of his younger employee as anything more than that – no matter how attractive and wonderful said employee was (excluding his questionable choice in event dates that is).

Will led them around towards one of the other halls branching off from the left side of the room.  Thorin knew from past years that their way would take them towards a side access that was likely closer to their table and the stage.   At the same time, other workers opened the main entrance to the auditorium and began to usher the assembled guests inside to their seats.  

The two of them unceremoniously deposited Lobelia at the assigned table, ignoring her silent tantrum at such treatment, and continued on without her.

“Usually your work is above reproach, Will, but your decision to force that woman on me was cruel at best,” Thorin complained as soon as they were free of her company.

Will flashed him a sardonic smirk as they ascended the stairs to the backstage area.  “I can understand why you would think so, but I promise that there’s a method to my madness.”

“And that would be…?”

They paused, being sure to stay clear of the stage hands scurrying around with final preparations.

“Remember when you said that she had a reputation for charging a ton of money for minor appearances?  Well, I’ve learned that the reason she’s able to get away with it is not because her talents are worth the cost, but because she’s extremely skilled at talking others into giving her what she wants.  In most cases, she utilizes those abilities to benefit herself, but given the right incentive, she could put them to better use.”

“Such as raising more money for the foundation,” Thorin concluded.  Dread filled him.  “Precisely what _incentive_ will she need to do that?”

Will laughed and nudged him jovially.  “Don’t look so glum!  I’m not so heartless that I’d make you do anything you’d regret.  In fact, you don’t have to do _anything_ except be your charming self.  Miss Brandybuck will be doing all the heavy lifting.”

“Esmeralda?”  Thorin could not fathom how the heiress to the Old Toby Tobacco fortune would be of assistance in the matter.

Will’s smirk, if possible, stretched even further.  “Correct.  There’s no time to get into the details now; let’s just say that the seating arrangement was intentional and Miss Brandybuck loves an opportunity to challenge Lobelia.”

He checked his watch and then looked around worriedly.  “Tim should be here by now.  He goes on right after you... Oh!  Here he comes.”

Thorin turned to the face the same direction as his assistant.  It took all of his self-control to subdue the instinctual urge to scowl at the approaching figure.

A tall and powerfully built man, Timothy Smaug was an accountant who’d been hired by Thorin’s father during his brief years as the CEO of The Lonely Mountain.  He’d been promoted remarkably fast compared to his peers, as he had a great head for numbers and could multiply assets while keeping costs low.  It was for that very reason that Thráin appointed him to run the firm’s charity organization, and he had exceeded expectations in every way.  In fact, the fundraiser gala was his brainchild, and never failed to bring in the necessary funds to keep every aspect of the program running smoothly.

Nevertheless, Thorin maintained an intense dislike for the man, but he could never put his finger on the reason for it.  Perhaps it was the ageless quality of his appearance: in form and face, he looked no older than William, but there was a notable refinement in the way he dressed and moved, and an otherworldly maturity in his glance.  It could be the obvious scorn he held for anyone he believed to be below his station, which was pretty much everyone, or his complete disregard for the feelings of others.

Whatever the case, he simply rubbed Thorin the wrong way, and if he wasn’t so good at his job, he would have been let go long ago.

Smaug bestowed them with a serpentine smile and held out a hand to Thorin.  “Mister Oakenshield – a pleasure as always.  It has been too long.”

_‘Not long enough,’_ Thorin thought, but he forced a congenial countenance and accepted the offered appendage.  “I’m looking forward to the presentation this evening, Timothy.  The board of directors has high expectations, considering the ambitious budget proposal you submitted earlier this year.”    

Smaug flicked a stray lock of jet black hair away from his gold-flecked, amber eyes.  “And I have no doubt that the donations from tonight’s proceedings will more than cover the projected goals.”  He shifted to direct his next statement towards Will.  “Is everything in place as planned?”

Will skimmed his agenda and timetable for the night.  “I believe so.  You and Mister Oakenshield were the last ones we were waiting on.  The ushers should finish escorting everyone to their tables any minute now, the catering staff is poised to start serving the appetizers, and the first band is on standby to perform the opening number.  All that’s left is for you to give the signal to start.”

“Very good,” Smaug approved.  He sauntered close and clapped a hand on Will’s shoulder.  “Then we shall proceed straightaway.  I will go and tell the technicians to dim the lights and ready the sound system, and leave you to handle things here.”  He strolled past William.  His hand lingered on his shoulder, and then trailed a little ways down his back in what almost appeared to be a caress.       

Will visibly shuddered, but Thorin noted that it was not from pleasure.  His own hands clenched, and his eyes followed the man’s movements with murderous intent in his glare.

The younger man shook himself and cleared his throat.  “Ahem… well… I guess we should move along.  Are you ready, Mister Oakenshield?”

Thorin nodded with a short, forceful exhale and turned to follow his assistant to the Green Room.

The other speakers and entertainers were already assembled within.  Some of them conversed at a respectable volume, while others reviewed their notes.  The rest were watching the production on the flat screen television hanging on the wall; the popular folk rock band, _The Dúnedain Rangers_ , had taken the stage and began the first chords to their new single “Not This Day”.

Will retrieved a bottle of water from a refrigerator.  “How are you feeling?” he asked, handing it to Thorin.

“Hmm?  Oh… fine.  I’m fine.  Forgive me; my mind is elsewhere at the moment.” Thorin accepted the water and took a sip.

Will crossed his arms around his clipboard.  “Well, you might want to bring it back here.  You’re on in about three minutes.”

“Right.”  Thorin replaced the cap on the bottle and handed it back to Will.  He took a deep breath.  “Alright, I think I’m ready.”  He smoothed the creases of his tuxedo jacket.  “Do I look okay?”

William took a step back and gave him a once over, a faint hint of pink on his cheeks.  “Y-yeah.  You look... alright...”

Thorin raised a brow.  “Just ‘alright’?”

Will looked him over again.  Then he set his clipboard and the water bottle down on a nearby table.  Before Thorin could form a question, he reached up to straighten Thorin’s tie.  His ears, barely peaking out between the wisps of his curly hair, turned bright red.  “There,” he mumbled with a half-smile.  “It was a little crooked.”

“Probably from Lobelia’s incessant clawing,” Thorin remarked in a low voice.

Will ran his hand down the tie a few more times than was strictly necessary.  He might have continued to do so if the other occupants in the room hadn’t started cheering with the audience on the television at the conclusion of the first song.  As it was, he released Thorin but did not move away.

“Well?” Thorin asked.

Will stared at him a few seconds more.  “Perfect,” he finally whispered.  “Time to go.”  He picked up his clipboard again and gestured to the door.

Side-by-side, they headed for the stage in a sudden, shy silence.  They stopped at the edge between the main stage curtain and the backdrop, just beyond the view of the crowd.  The band was taking their final bows, and Thorin would need to enter just as they made their exit.

Thorin focused on breathing.  He was used to giving speeches and did not often suffer from stage fright, but his company’s legal troubles did not make him a popular man.  He didn’t usually care much, but it was still nerve-racking to step in front of an audience without any idea of how he might be received.  

“Hey.”

A light touch on his arm drew his attention back to the shorter man at his side.  Thorin shifted to look into the warm, hazel eyes of his friend and employee.

William Took tilted his head and gave him an encouraging smile, his expression one of total faith.  “It’s going to be alright.  You’ll do fine.  Just remember that no matter what, you’ve still got friends in your corner.”

Thorin didn’t know how he knew what had been plaguing his thoughts just then, but suddenly, it didn’t matter.  Will was with him, and believed in him.  

He nodded, because in that moment, he felt as though that was all he would ever need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: more fun and flirting at the Fundraiser Gala!
> 
> Enjoying the story so far? Drop me a note and let me know! Comments and reviews are very much appreciated as it helps me refine the story and technique and encourages me to continue! Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin’s tongue went dry with a sharp intake of breath that was then caught in his throat. Pain like a cold, sharp knife lodged in his chest while his mind was struck dumb with disbelief. He took a slow, measured step backward, followed by another. He wanted to try and escape before he became a witness to something more intimate, but his feet seemed so heavy, and he could not tear his eyes away from the scene playing out.

 V.

Thorin walked across the stage under a cover of darkness following _The_ _Dúnedain_ _Rangers_ exit, a cordless microphone in his hand.  He stopped when he reached the center of the area and stood poised and proud, waiting for his cue.  From this vantage, he could see most of the auditorium even without the floodlights on.

Rows of stadium style chairs had been removed to make room for approximately fifty or so round tables, each topped with slate-grey, embroidered tablecloths while simple, scentless candles served as centerpieces.  The furniture was strategically staggered to allow plenty of space for each table’s six occupants to move around and sit comfortably without fear of bumping into someone behind or near them.

The staff of Firebeard’s Ladle was situated around the room’s edges, silently maneuvering carts laden with plates into position, so that they might serve the guests with utmost efficiency.  And in addition to the complimentary red wine that had been issued to everyone, a mobile, U-shaped bar was set up along the left wall (relative to Thorin’s current position).  It was artfully lit with dim, recessed light fixtures that cast a soft glow upon the various bottles on display yet veiled the register in shadow.   Strips of LED lights illuminated the inside edges of the counter, giving the three servers enough to see by to pour drinks and mix cocktails.

With no formal foreword or exceptional pageantry, the bright lights of the Profile Spots and Fresnel Lanterns clicked back on, and Thorin began, “Good evening everyone, and welcome to the ninth annual Children of War Fundraiser Gala.”  Light applause from the audience followed - mere acknowledgement of his greeting.  He waited for the hush to return and continued.

“This charitable foundation was established by my father, Thráin Durin, following the event that is now known as the Eregion Valley Massacre.  As I’m sure most of you are aware, the catastrophe of that time resulted in the deaths of thousands of soldiers and innocent civilians.  Much has been done to restore the damage since then, but the repercussions of war are felt for a long time after, and for some, healing is never fully achieved.  Veterans return home traumatized in body and mind, families are torn apart, and children become orphans.”

Thorin knew this from personal experience, and might have elaborated if time permitted.  Indeed, if his company’s reputation had not been in doubt, it was likely that he would have been asked to share a story or two of his own.  Instead, he was told to stick to the obvious statements and facts.  Even so, his powerful voice conveyed his passion for the cause, entrancing the crowd and preventing them from expressing judgement, for now at least.

“There are many reputable organizations out there that provide benefits or assistance programs to veterans and their families, as well as the civilians and refugees affected by violent conflicts.  Most are run by various governments while others are privately managed.  The Children of War falls into the later category, and yet we remain the most comprehensive and fiscally responsible program in our region.  Our foundation has once again received an “A” rating for efficient use of funds and total expenses for programs, as well as an “Excellent” for the value of the services provided.  Ninety percent of all donations go directly towards the programs themselves, rather than the overhead costs of administration and fundraising.

“Tonight, you’ll hear from key executives who will share more insight and information into the variety of programs offered, including but not limited to: grief counseling, therapy animals, higher education scholarships, medical coverage, PTSD treatments, housing projects, and many more.  You’ll also hear personal testimonies from individuals who’ve benefitted from the Children of War Foundation, all while being treated to an excellent dinner from Firebeard’s Ladle and premium entertainment from several highly supportive celebrities.

“You have all received a pamphlet with a list of relevant contact information.  Should you have any questions or feedback, all of the speakers, including myself, will be available throughout the night, or you may submit your comments to the addresses provided.  And now, I’ll turn it over the head of the foundation, Mister Timothy Smaug.  Thank you, and we hope you enjoy the program.”

Everyone dutifully clapped for the concise, if a not overly exciting introduction, and Thorin swiftly departed.  He handed the microphone to Smaug as they passed one another without a word.

William was still waiting in the wings for him, but he was shuffling around on his feet.  He seemed to be staring at the floor as though it held the answer to some significant quandary.  However, he ceased fidgeting and brightened when he saw Thorin approaching.  “Well done, sir,” he complimented in a low voice.

Thorin gave a small shrug.  “Thank you, but it was hardly a challenging speech.”

“Maybe not,” said Will, “but not everyone has the courage to stand up and talk in front of a huge audience like that.”  He extended his unoccupied arm in the direction of the backstage area.  “Come on… I’ll take you back to your seat.”

Thorin strolled past him with his hands clasped behind his back, retracing their steps behind the stage curtains towards the door that would lead into the hall.  William walked wordlessly beside him.

Thorin observed him out of the corner of his eye, once more appreciating his formal appearance for the night.  He had thought from their first meeting (in spite of his initial decision not to like him) that he was quite attractive in his own way, but the tuxedo made him look exceptionally handsome.  Combined with his good-natured and sociable temperament, and the result would have made for a much more agreeable companion for the evening compared to Lobelia, or anyone else for that matter.  In the moment, Thorin felt that he was wasted on behind-the-scenes labor at this event.

Then again, he wouldn’t have employed him if he wasn’t so very capable and organized.  Alas, it was probably best that Thorin let him get back to it.

“You needn’t escort me, Will.  I know my way back,” he assured him.

“Hmm?  Oh, of course.  But I…”  Will stopped walking.  His smile retreated, and he regarded Thorin while chewing on his lip.  

Without meaning to, Thorin glared at him.  “Will?” he inquired.

William glanced over his shoulder like he expected to see someone spying on them, but the hall was empty.  He turned back to Thorin and ducked his head doubtfully.  “Mister Oakenshield, there’s something... I-I mean... It’s just that I...”

Some other thought seemed to occur to him, and he frowned in that determined way he adopted when he resolved something in his mind.  “Nevermind.  Just forget it.”  He turned on his heel and rushed back down the hall.

Thorin called after him.  “Will, is everything alright?”  But his assistant had already disappeared.

Thorin crossed his arms and stood still in contemplation.  He couldn’t place it, but he had a bad feeling that something wasn’t right.  Will was exhibiting an unusually nervous energy, but it was not like the harried fluster that manifested when he was busy with tasks and tight time schedules.

He wondered if it might have something to do with Smaug.  Will _did_ seem more agitated whenever he had to interact with the Wyrm, but perhaps that was wishful thinking on his part.  

 _'It wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it?’_  Thorin made up his mind to check in on Will later.

Nodding to himself, he silently eased the side door to the auditorium open and, not wishing to draw attention to himself or get in the way of the catering staff, searched for a clear path to his table.  Once a few of the waiters finished serving everyone in the area, he snuck over to the empty chair next to Lobelia.

The others seated with her glanced over at him, but promptly returned their attention back to Smaug’s opening presentation.  After about five minutes, it was concluded with an invitation to begin their meal and order drinks, during which renowned composer and vocalist Daeron Eglador would play some ambient music on a grand piano.

Thorin winced when the collective scraping of chairs resounded as everyone readjusted their seats at the tables and utensils clinked upon plates.  The low hum of conversation filled the room, and Lobelia took it upon herself to initiate discussion.

“Welcome back!  I was just telling everyone here what a wonderful night we’ve had so far,” she crooned sweetly.  Contrary to the words and body language directed towards him, her eyes darted to the man seated slightly across from her.

Thorin forced an imitation of a smile for Lobelia; he didn’t trust himself with speech, but he offered far more amiable greetings for the table’s other occupants.

The elder of the two men, Doctor Óin Callenton, got up and leaned across the table to hold out his hand.  “Good to see ya again, laddie,” he said with a firm shake.  He gestured to the tall, stern-looking woman beside them.  “This here’s my wife, Freya.”  She likewise offered her hand.

Throughout their brief acquaintanceship, Thorin had often heard Óin speak fondly of his wife of thirty years, but now that he saw her in person, he couldn’t imagine a more mismatched-looking pair.  

Óin was possessed of long silver hair and a full beard and mustache.  He had piercing dark eyes, deep set beneath a wrinkled forehead that seemed forever knit in irritation, and yet his smile, when it appeared, was grandfatherly and benevolent.  His tuxedo was dark grey and looked a bit worn; he’d once told Thorin that it was the only one he owned and that he loathed wearing it.  Were it not for events such as this, he would never remove his favorite pair of dirt-stained jeans and brown hooded sweatshirt.  Taken together, Óin (in his natural habitat) would remind one of an old sage which a fantasy hero might consult for magic potions.

In contrast, his wife had the demeanor and dignity of a proper lady.  She carried herself with an air of pride, but it was not narcissism.  Her default expression might give that impression, but when she spoke, it was always with complete respect, as one equal to another, regardless of whom she was speaking with.

Her own white hair was meticulously tamed in a pixie cut, and her eyelids were painted with earth-tone hues, making her green irises pop dramatically.  She wore an elegant, navy blue chiffon gown with a scooped neck-line and embroidered, lace sleeves.  It was both modest and modern, but it showed off her slim, toned form very well.

“A pleasure to meet you at last,” she said.  “My husband speaks very highly of you.”

Thorin brought her hand to his lips and gave it a light kiss.  “Likewise, Mrs. Callenton.”

She grinned at him.  “And a gentleman besides!  Well, I _am_ impressed.”

The woman on Lobelia’s other side smirked.  “I _have_ heard that Durin men can be quite charming when the mood strikes them,” she remarked dryly, though not unkindly.  She disregarded table etiquette and reached over Lobelia to offer her own hand.  “It’s been too long, Mister Oakenshield.”

“Miss Brandybuck,” Thorin acknowledged with heartfelt pleasure.  “I’m glad you could make it tonight.”

She winked cheekily when he kissed her knuckles.

Thorin was not _terribly_ familiar with Esmeralda Brandybuck, but their paths had crossed on occasion at similar social events, and he thoroughly enjoyed their sparse interactions.  She possessed a boisterous personality, quick mind, and a wonderful sense of humor.  She was a great conversationalist and made friends easily; few people had ill things to say about her character.

She was much younger than the other two women at the table, perhaps in her early to mid twenties, and lacked Lobelia’s haughtiness or Freya’s sophistication.  She was also curvy and short, but not overweight or “mousy”, as Lobelia so delicately put it.  True - her reddish-brown hair was bushy (though currently, it was braided into a crown around her head), and her makeup was much more subdued than most of the women at the gala, but it accentuated her natural beauty and sweet personality.

Thorin liked her well enough.  In fact, had they been closer in age and his interests didn’t lie elsewhere, he might have considered courting her.  As it was, he was profoundly grateful that Will arranged for them to share a table.

Esmeralda gestured to her companion for the evening.  “Mister Oakenshield, I don’t believe you’ve met my cousin, Otho Sackville.”

The handsome brunet next to her stood to shake his hand with a curt nod, but said nothing.

“Cousin?” Lobelia asked, perking up a little.  Her voice quavered as though at once intrigued and disgusted.

Esmeralda maintained polite composure, simulating obliviousness to Lobelia’s dual insinuation.  “My boyfriend was supposed to accompany me, but unfortunately, he had a previous engagement.  Luckily, dear Otho here was in town for this event, and likewise alone, so we agreed to come together.”

“I see,” Lobelia murmured, placated by the explanation.  “And what does ‘dear Otho’ do for a living, if I may ask?”  She blinked her eyelashes rapidly as though to dislodge a spec of dirt and leaned forward.

Otho’s gaze flicked to the crevice and curves exposed by Lobelia’s low top and the precarious tilt of her body.  His severe countenance relaxed as he leered at the view appreciatively.  “I am a partner in my own law firm.  Perhaps you’re heard of it?  Sackville-Baggins and Associates; we operate primarily out of Breeland, but our reputation is well established throughout all of the Eriador region.”

“You know, I think I _do_ know of it,” Lobelia replied, though Thorin was sure she was lying.

“And _you_ , Mrs. Callenton?  What do you and your husband do?” Esmeralda interjected.  She glanced at Thorin.

He was relieved to see that he wasn’t the only one who was repulsed by the shameless flirting.  Óin, he had noticed, kept his eyes on his plate and a hand upon his left ear.  Thorin guessed that he was adjusting the volume of his hearing aid.

“ _Doctor_ Callenton, if you please,” Freya corrected.  “Or Doctor Freya, since Óin and I bear the same title.”

“Oh?”

Freya gave an affirmative.  “I am a neurosurgeon at Saint Glorfindel Hospital, and my husband is an esteemed homeopathic doctor, herbalist and botanist.”

“Wow,” Esmeralda exclaimed in honest awe.  “Do the two of you have differing perspectives on health care then?”

“Oh, we have our share of disagreements, I suppose.  But ultimately, we both have an innate desire to heal.  Our methods may differ, but so long as our patients walk away feeling better than when they came, it is enough.”

Óin bobbed his head in agreement, but did not elaborate on his wife’s words.  He was rather fixated on his appetizer.

Thorin could hardly blame him.  Chef Bombur had completely outdone himself with the night’s menu.

The first course was a choice between tomatoes stuffed with a light tuna salad or a bean and beef stuffed pepper.  Thorin had opted for the tomato.  The filling was a perfect balance of tuna, yogurt, celery, onion and a host of common seasonings.  It was a simple snack to be sure, but Firebeard’s Ladle prided itself on creating mouth-watering delicates without the pomp or necessity for rare or expensive ingredients.

It wasn’t long before the catering staff returned to exchange the appetizers for a chicken and apple spinach salad.  While they worked, Daeron disappeared from the stage.

Smaug reappeared briefly and gave positive recognition for both the music and the meal thus far.  After the applause had died down, he introduced the night’s first keynote speaker – psychologist and animal trainer Doctor Éowyn Ithilien.  

The massive screens on either side of the stage lit up to display slides and pictures for the presentation while a lithe, athletic woman came to stand in the center.  She was clothed in a white knee-length, eyelet lace tunic dress, but she wore no extra embellishments or jewelry except for a gold wedding band.  Her long, strawberry-blonde hair flowed freely down to her waist, save for a portion on either side of her head.  These were braided behind her ears and met in a ponytail in the back.

It took a moment, but Thorin eventually placed why her name and appearance was familiar – she was Agent Faramir Ithilien’s wife.  He had seen her photo when Faramir and Elrond were demonstrating their new tracking program (which Faramir had ultimately decided to call “Oakenshield” in reference to the acorn icon and in honor of its first official user).

As the CEO of the Lonely Mountain, Thorin had a great deal to oversee, and thus wasn’t necessarily privy to every little detail of his company’s operations or employees.  Perhaps if he had been, he might have been able to discover the embezzler on his own.  In any event, he was surprised to learn that the foundation contracted a therapist who not only worked with law enforcement as well as the Children of War, but was in fact married to one of the agents assigned to his case.

Surely that was no coincidence.

Despite his newfound suspicions, Thorin approved of Doctor Ithilien’s demeanor and methods.  She spoke with a firm, authoritative tone, and her words here honest and straight-forward.  She elaborated on the various disorders, difficulties and disabilities that often resulted from the damages of war and the uniqueness that defined each individual’s experiences and must therefore be accounted for in treatment plans.

Her insights were both specialized and invaluable.  She was a veteran herself, having fought in both the Rohirrim Civil War and the Battle of Pelennor, so she understood the struggles associated with PTSD firsthand.  But while she was an educated and licensed psychologist, her expertise lay in the use of therapy animals.  She co-owned a rural ranch with her elder brother, Éomer; they and their employees trained a wide range of furry companions and working pets for both law enforcement and rehabilitation.

Éowyn articulated the studies and successes of her approach.  Her speech was augmented by the slides on the side screens.  Most of them were pictures from the ranch: children playing with kittens and dogs working alongside disabled veterans.  But the majority of the photos featured different individuals caring for or riding horses.

At last, she concluded, “We at the Meduseld Ranch and Clinic are well acquainted with the griefs birthed by war.  But we firmly believe that all such darkness can be overcome, and healing can be found for those who will seek it and accept it.  That is why our motto is: ‘The Winter shall pass and the Shadow shall depart.’ We are proud, as always, to partner with and support the Children of War Foundation, and we hope that you too will find it within yourselves to join with us - for the sake of our veterans and all that benefit from these organizations.  Thank you.”

Éowyn curtsied and welcomed Daeron Eglador back to the stage, this time accompanied by Maglor Curufinwë and Lúthien Tinúviel.

While the trio played, many began to take the opportunity to meander to other tables, or approach the bar on the far side of the room to purchase more drinks before the main course was served.  

Esmeralda pushed her chair back and prepared to stand. “I suppose that’s my cue.  Would you like to join me, Doctor Freya?”

Mrs. Callenton arched her brow.  “For what, precisely?”

“Oh, just a bit of harmless fun.”  She pointed towards the bar.  “See the men congregating over there?  I’ve met a few of them at other events like this – terrible misers, most of them – all content to give the appearance of generosity by showing up, but then they mysteriously vanish when it’s time to donate.  However,” her eyes shimmered mischievously, “they are far more forthcoming when the request is made by a friendly woman who might swoon straight into their beds by a display of wealth and kindness.”

Lobelia was clearly scandalized at Esmeralda’s suggestion.  “Oh, how disgraceful!  You would demean yourself by trading _favors_ for money?”  She turned up her nose to better look down upon the younger woman.  “Well, I always knew you were of a trashy sort, but I didn’t think you would stoop so low.”

Thorin glowered at his “date”, but didn’t have time to say anything.

“Oh, don’t be so daft, Lobelia,” Miss Brandybuck snapped.  “I’m not _actually_ going to put out - merely _imply_ that I _might_ for an esteemed and generous gentlemen.  I won’t be making any promises, and those types of men won’t be thinking with their heads - or the ones on their shoulders at any rate - to realize that.”

Óin released a loud guffaw.  “Well, well... you ARE a bold one, lass!  And intelligent besides.  You’re quite right, after all.  I’m afraid the likes of our kind can sometimes be swayed to forgo our better judgement when pleasures of the flesh are a potential reward.”

Esmeralda pretended to gasp.  “But surely _you_ would never fall for such wiles, Doctor Callenton.”

“Not now that I have my Freya, of course.  But I was young and impulsive once, and not nearly as wise as I am now.”

“ _Wise_ , he says,” Freya japed good-naturedly.  “Not wise enough to resist my schemes even now, dear.”  To Esmeralda, she explained, “Strategies change with time, but the game itself never grows old.”

Óin took his wife’s hand and kissed it with a smile.  “Schemes and strategies you call it, but I prefer to think of them as your charms, and I fully admit to remaining at their mercy.”

Esmeralda cooed at the sappy display, and Thorin suppressed a grin from his own hopeless romantic side with a shake of his head.  Even Otho seemed to disguise a twitch of his lips by scratching his nose.  Only Lobelia was unmoved.

“Be that as it may,” she replied, her voice heavy with condemnation, “I think it an utterly vulgar thing to do.”

Esmeralda turned back to her.  “You’re probably right,” she admitted.  Her expression morphed to one of resolution, and her tone was cold and sure as she decided, “But I’ll do it anyway.  Think what you will of me, but I strongly feel that a “trashy” or manipulative reputation is a small price to pay to help those who require the services of the foundation.  My family’s company already makes regular contributions to the fund, and I myself do a great deal of volunteer work, as Mister Oakenshield can attest.”  

She nodded at him, and he copied the gesture.  She spoke the truth; Thorin was aware that her name was almost always included on lists of sponsors or volunteers.

“I can be counted on to do whatever it takes to help,” she added.  “And if persuading some greedy narcissists to give up their extravagant lifestyle for a short time might provide for veterans or their families, then I think I can live with the scandal.”

“I still think it abhorrent and woefully dishonest,” Lobelia grumbled, but she spoke with less conviction after Esmeralda’s ardent speech.

Thorin caught a brief glimpse of a malicious smirk upon Esmeralda’s face, followed by a perfectly blank mask.  “Or perhaps, “ she pronounced slowly, “you’re simply jealous.”

“Ha!” Lobelia scoffed.  “Jealous?  Why on earth should I be jealous?”

Esmeralda lifted her shoulders casually.  “Well, I imagine at your age, it’s far more difficult to sway men with your – uh – ‘charms’ to do _anything_.  If you were to attempt the same venture as me, you’d likely be met with far less success.”

Lobelia’s face turned a magnificent crimson in her anger.  “I-I beg your pardon?” she sputtered.  “Am I to understand that you think me too _old_ to attract or persuade a man?  That _you_ are somehow better than _me_?”

“Surely she doesn’t mean that,” Otho interjected, glaring at his cousin.  “After all, she asked Doctor Callenton to go with her and she – forgive me for saying so, Doctor - is much older than you, Miss Bracegirdle.”

Freya glared at him and shifted uncomfortably, but Esmeralda ignored her distress and insisted, “Yes, but there is a vast difference here.  Doctor Freya possesses an enduring beauty; she is like a fine wine that has only become more wonderful and – pardon the expression – more delicious with time.”

“I can certainly attest to that,” Óin added, squeezing his wife’s hand and gazing at her with a loving sparkle in his eye.

“You, on the other hand,” Esmeralda continued disregarding the side comment, “really seem to grow more bitter and sour every time I see you.  I’m sorry to say so, but men like those over there are not likely to contribute when asked to do so by a woman who is aging rather like milk.”

Thorin understood now what Will meant when he spoke of a strategic arrangement.  He did not know if it was Will’s idea or Esmeralda’s, or how they had agreed on such a plan.  But as he observed the effects of Miss Brandybuck’s prodding in the shades of Lobelia’s skin, he wondered whether or not it had been a good idea.  Though there was an undeniable truth to her jabs, it _was_ a bit cruel.

Lobelia jumped up and slammed her palms on the table.  “Why, you little wretch!” she hissed, barely containing her indignation.  As it was, most of the people within earshot glanced over on hearing the dishes rattle and the woman’s outburst.  “How dare you insult me so!  Really now, have you looked in the mirror lately?  Why would anyone consider a proposition from _you_?”

“I know it pains you to hear it, but my results speak for themselves,” Esmeralda stated confidently.  “But if you disagree so strongly, then prove me wrong.”

“Prove you wrong?” Lobelia repeated.

Esmeralda grinned.  “Yes.  Let’s have - shall we say - a friendly competition, you and I.  Let’s both go and mingle and see how we fare.  We’ll talk to as many people as we can and try to induce them to exceed the minimum donation.”  She briefly looked around.  “It might be difficult to keep score by the number of people we talk to, so how ‘bout we determine a winner by how much money we can persuade them to donate?  If you can best me, I will take back every word I said.”

Lobelia didn’t bother to pause to consider the challenge.  “I accept!” she sneered.  “I’ll show you!  By the time I’m through, I’ll have raised so much, the foundation won’t even know what to do with it all!  And you will admit in front of everyone here that I am superior to you in every way!”

“Provided you succeed,” Esmeralda warned.

Lobelia huffed and began to march off towards the bar.  Halfway there, she seemed to remember that she was meant to be seductive, and she strolled onward with an exaggerated sway of her hips.

Esmeralda faced everyone left at the table and laughed.  “Well, that was almost _too_ easy!”

“Why do I feel as if you planned this?” Otho grumbled.

“Probably because I did,” she answered.  She regarded Freya again.  “I’m sorry I dragged you into that, Doctor Callenton.  And you needn’t participate, although I _would_ be glad of some company.  And I really should at least _pretend_ I care about the outcome of this little wager.”

“I will join you, if only to hear the full story behind this charade,” Freya answered.  She took up her handbag and moved to Esmeralda’s side.

Before they left, Miss Brandybuck glanced at Thorin.  “We’ll be back in a little bit.  If I don’t get a chance to catch up with my darling Bil, please give him my regards... and tell him ‘mission accomplished’.”  With a final wink, she steered Freya towards a group of middle-aged men and women standing at the end of the bar.

Otho wiped a hand across his face and stood as well.  “I’d better go and keep on eye on my wayward cousin,” he sighed.

He started off as though to follow Miss Brandybuck, but Thorin observed with some amusement (and relief) that his path gradually veered towards Lobelia instead.

Óin and Thorin exchanged a look of bemusement at the entire situation.  Then Óin moved to get up too.  “I hate to leave ya alone, laddie, but I’ve been meaning to speak with my brother Glóin and this seems like as good a time as any.”

Thorin consented with a wave of his hand.  “That’s quite alright, Óin.  I should like to check in with my assistant before the next speaker anyway.  Please give my regards to Glóin, and tell him that I would like to visit with him and his wife sometime.”

They wordlessly parted, and Thorin hurried to the side door, lest he be distracted from his purpose.  He was relieved to find that the hall was still relatively empty; he took a moment to collect himself and reflect.

While the event had not begun favorably, he could honestly say that the proceedings had been interesting at least.  He didn’t completely approve of Will and Esmeralda’s conspiracy, but he had always been a little lax if the ends justified the means.

Then again, perhaps it had less to do with the results themselves, and more to do with the instigator.  He couldn’t really bring himself to be _too_ disapproving of Will or his methods, mad as they might be.

Thorin smiled a little, cheered by the prospect of finding his assistant.  It had only been about forty-five minutes since they parted after his speech, but he definitely preferred Will’s company over the others (even if he was on good terms with almost everyone at his table).

It really was too bad that he was working.  Thorin strongly felt that he’d enjoy himself much more if Will had been his date.

Well, there was always the next event, provided that Smaug didn’t assert his own agenda on the matter first.

That stray thought reminded him that there was more to his desire to find Will than as an excuse to escape.  He was worried about him, and he couldn’t forget the odd behavior demonstrated by the Wyrm against his friend.

Determined to make certain that Will was okay, Thorin resolutely headed for the backstage door.

* * *

 VI.

To Thorin’s considerable consternation, both Will and Smaug were conspicuously absent from the appointed stations.  A searching sweep of the entire backstage and a quick check in the Green Room proved fruitless.  It was only after he’d interrogated several flustered volunteers that Thorin learned of an emergency situation.  Apparently, one of the speakers had suddenly taken ill, possibly due to an allergic reaction from the appetizer.  Consequently, Smaug and Will were attempting to rearrange what remained of the night’s schedule to fill the extra time.

Thorin was disappointed by this turn of events but there wasn’t much to be done for it.  He _could_ offer his assistance, but he didn’t think there was much more he might do that Smaug had not already thought of.

He probably should return to the concert hall instead and make his way round the room.  It wouldn’t do to appear to be hiding; his reputation would suffer further damage if he gave a false impression of shame.  However, Thorin decided to take the long way around to the auditorium’s antechamber, and perhaps explore a few of the halls connecting to other areas of the Country Club, just in case Will had gotten lost... or... something.

He chose to ignore the little voice in his head that whispered of any less than noble intentions.

Thorin wandered leisurely through the deserted corridors of the Greenwood, taking in the décor and architecture and nodding politely to a few passing employees of the estate, all while keeping an eye out for any sign of Will.

In due course, he found himself in a large receiving room of some sort, furnished with a high-end, tawny wool rug, a plush merlot silk sofa pushed against the west wall, and a pewter gas fireplace by the east wall.  Directly across from the entrance was a one of the high-arched windows that overlooked the front lawn.

A series of photographs hung on the walls.  A handful of them were relatively old, if the outdated style worn by their subjects and black-and-white format was anything to go by.  Thorin examined them with mild interest, and guessed that many of the individuals portrayed were benefactors of the club or influential members.  Some of them might even be related to people he knew; here and there he saw familiar features – the shape or color of eyes, the length of a nose, or a smile – that he recalled from some of his own associates.

The last picture he came to caused him to clench his teeth in fury.  Encapsulated in its frame was the memory of an old alliance - the friendship that had once existed between the Durins and the Greenlees.  Looking down at him from the photograph was his own grandfather, Thròr, and next to him was the Greenlee patriarch at the time, Oropher.  They had their arms slung around each other’s shoulders, and they were grinning at the camera as though they’d just composed themselves from a fit of laughter.

Positioned in front of them were two teenaged boys, Thràin and Thranduil.  Both were the splitting images of their fathers, but even then, it was clear that they did not share their parents’ amiable regard for one another.

Seeing them like that gave Thorin pause.  He had always believed that the families had withdrawn their favor as a result of the first embezzlement charges, but he now recalled that Oropher had suffered from an untimely death well before the crime came to light.  Thranduil had succeeded his father’s estate by then and was therefore the one primarily responsible for their current animosity.  And yet the expressions on Thràin and Thranduil’s faces hinted at a much earlier beginning to their ill feelings.

In his own short lifetime, Thràin had impressed upon Thorin his distrust and hatred of Thranduil, but he never fully explained his justification for it beyond the criminal acts committed by Thròr.  Of course, Thorin had his own reasons to dislike Thranduil at this point, but much of his initial instinct might well have been inherited from his father.

Whatever the case may be, Thorin decided that he’d seen enough of his family’s betrayer for the night, even if only in a photograph.  He turned and stomped from the room.

Thorin headed back to the auditorium, but he decided to make a short detour to a restroom.  Seeing that picture had put him in a foul mood, and he needed to calm down before he returned to his table.

He made his way to the facilities near the front entrance to the club.  There were restrooms right next to the concert hall of course, but he was less likely to be disturbed by guests in the other.  

Once inside, Thorin went over to one of the sinks and waved his hands over the motion sensor for the cold water.  He cupped his palms to catch a pool of it and splashed his face.  The icy liquid promptly began to cool his fevered temper, and he repeated the action a few more times.

A bathroom attendant, whom he hadn’t noticed at first, came to offer him a towel.  He accepted it with a grateful nod and pat his face dry while still bent over the porcelain fixtures.

When he was finished, Thorin straightened and took stock of his appearance.  Honestly, he’d prefer to just go home and call it a night.  He didn’t much feel like going back to the crowded room, where overly polite conversations, judgemental stares, and mostly regurgitated speeches were all he had to look forward to.  Half-formed plans to make a dignified retreat took shape in his head, but their progress ground to a halt at the sound a recognizable and very welcome voice from just outside the room.

“ _The Rangers_ have agreed to add one more song to their last set, and Lindir Figwit thinks he can stretch out his exposition on the scholarship programs for a few minutes at least,” it said.  “If you can take your time summarizing the financial projections for this year, I think we should be in pretty good shape.”

Thorin discarded his used towel in the laundry bin, tipped the attendant, and rushed after the fading voices.

As soon as he took a good look around, he spotted Smaug and Will’s forms vanish around a corner.  He followed after them.

They were walking together down the corridor some meters ahead of Thorin.  Will’s head was bowed over his clipboard; Thorin could hear the crinkle of pages as Will flipped through them.  Smaug sauntered precariously close at his side.

“Well done.  I knew I could count on you,” the Wyrm complimented.  He paused.  “By the way, have you given any more thought to what we discussed earlier today?”

Will stopped and glanced up at him.  “I’m sorry?”  He turned to face Smaug, who angled likewise.  Neither seemed to notice Thorin’s presence.

“Oh,” he recollected.  “Yes I have.”  He adopted a rather stern demeanor.  “And while I appreciate the offer, the answer is still no.  I like my job, thank you very much, and I’m not about to give it up on a whim.”

Thorin ceased walking in response to those words.  What did Will mean by them?

Smaug’s lips curled in what was probably supposed to be a charming smile. He ambled closer to Will and leaned down, then lowered his voice and murmured, “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?”

Will gulped and hugged his clipboard to his chest protectively.  He took a few steps backward.  “I-I’m afraid not.”

“Oh come now – surely there’s something I can offer you.”  Smaug advanced even closer to him.  Will continued to retreat until his back hit the wall and he was trapped between it and the taller man.  “Something you _desire…_ ”  Smaug reached for him and laid a hand on his cheek, his thumb flirting with Will’s bottom lip.  He bowed his head further, his breath fanning hot on Will’s face.

For Thorin, the world seemed to stop for a moment, the image of Smaug hovering over a non-resistant Will frozen in his mind.  

William slowly transferred his clipboard to one arm and lowered it to his side.  His other hand came to rest atop the one cupping his face, a consenting disposition turning his mouth up.

Thorin’s tongue went dry with a sharp intake of breath that was then caught in his throat.  Pain like a cold, sharp knife lodged in his chest while his mind was struck dumb with disbelief.  He took a slow, measured step backward, followed by another.  He wanted to try and escape before he became a witness to something more intimate, but his feet seemed so heavy, and he could not tear his eyes away from the scene playing out.

He did not have the opportunity to spur himself into action, for suddenly, several things happened in quick succession. The clipboard fell to the floor with a clatter; pages came loose from its clasp and scattered all around.  Will took hold of Smaug’s wrist with _both_ hands, pulled down with considerable force, and twisted his arm.  He side-stepped and spun behind Smaug, using speed and momentum to shift positions and force his would-be molester into a submission hold.

Smaug was now shoved up against the wall, his face and chest pressed into the textured surface.  Will had the man’s arm restrained behind his back, bent far enough to cause pain, while his own arm (the one not restraining Smaug’s) was laid across his spine for added pressure and leverage.  This unexpected turn startled Smaug enough for Will to get the upper hand on him, for he could easily overpower him with brute strength otherwise.

It also snapped Thorin from his stupor and spurred him to intervene.  “Will!  Smaug!  What’s going on here?”  He saw what led up to the confrontation, but he had not heard enough to understand the full context of the situation.

He was also inexplicably relieved.

Will jolted, startled by the intrusion.  “M-Mister Oakenshield!”  He let go of Smaug at once and backed away, eyes fixed on the floor.  “I’m sorry… I…”  He didn’t seem to know what to say, so instead, he stooped to collect his papers.

“Would you care to explain what happened?” Thorin demanded, directing his query towards the charity executive.

Smaug composed himself but did not make any movement towards helping clean up the mess.  “It was nothing, Mister Oakenshield.  Just a little - ah - misunderstanding.”  He smoothed down his jacket and straightened his tie.  His tone and manner was entirely casual; if he hadn’t seen it happen, Thorin would not have guessed that he had just been more or less assaulted.

Since Smaug was not inclined to clarify the matter, Thorin knelt and began to help gather the dispersed forms.  He tried to catch his assistant’s eye as he did so.  “Will?” he gently prompted.

William looked up at him, then at Smaug.  He averted his gaze.  “N-nothing… like he said,” he mumbled.  He finished arranging his documents into a disorderly stack and straightened.  Thorin handed him the few that he had retrieved.

“Please excuse me…”  Will hurried away towards the auditorium without waiting for approval from either of them.

Thorin did not fail to notice how he trembled as he ran.    

“I also must take my leave,” Smaug stated airily.  “I need to confirm a slight change in the schedule with one of the speakers.”  He started to retrace his steps in the opposite direction Will had fled.

Just as he was about to pass him, Thorin seized Smaug’s arm and squeezed it.  “I don’t know what that was about, but I intend to find out,” he stated.  “And I warn you, _Wyrm_ \- if you EVER attempt anything untoward against my assistant again, you will lose far more than your job.”

Smaug’s condescending smile vanished instantly, and his handsome features contorted into an ugly snarl.  “It would not be prudent to threaten those who might aid you, Oakenshield, or be so quick to defend a stranger you’ve only known a few months.”  He wrenched his arm free and took a deep breath.  “Given the state of things, you would do well to be careful of who you bring into your confidences.  It would certainly be a tragedy to discover that your trust has been misplaced.”

“Considering you’ve never earned my trust, I hardly think that’s a valid danger.”

They glared at one another a few seconds more; Smaug broke the contact and went on his way.

Thorin kept his eye on him until he was out of sight.  Then he bolted after Will.

He assumed that William might need to talk to the presenters about the altered plans, so he headed backstage to check the Green Room first.  He was not there, and no one within had seen him.

Next, he looked in on every restroom he happened by, thinking that perhaps he would seek sanctuary in one, but this too yielded no results.

Finally, Thorin entered the concert hall by the side door and surveyed the room.

Most of the guests were still milling about, but the catering staff looked to be about ready to start serving the main course.  Accordingly, the music was gradually slowing and ushers were guiding everyone back to their seats.

A small crowd around the bar thinned, and when Thorin made another pass over the area, he caught sight of a man in a tailcoat tuxedo and medium-length curly hair talking to one of the bartenders.  But in a flash, a throng of people moving about obscured his view, and when they too had returned to their seats, Will was gone.

Thorin cursed under his breath and all but sprinted across the room, dodging people left and right.

Without warning, Lobelia stepped into his path, a triumphant expression settled on her face.  “Thorin!  There you are!  You’ll be happy to know that I put that baseborn, little upstart thoroughly in her place.”

He ignored her and weaved around to pass her.

“Thorin?  Where are you going?  We need to get back to our seats!”

Thorin advanced to the bar at last, but saw no trace of William or any clue as to which direction he’d gone.  Immeasurably frustrated, he considered each of the three bartenders to try and figure out which one had been speaking with Will.  

“Excuse me!”  He gestured to the one he thought was correct.

The man looked up and grinned widely, revealing dimples in both cheeks.  His eyes twinkled as though he was forever laughing at some secret joke, and his dark hair was thick and messy compared to his coworkers.  The name tag pinned to his black waistcoat read “Bofur”.

“Aye, what can I do ya for, Master Oakenshield?” he greeted in a friendly, but heavily accented voice.  “Fancy an ale?  Or a shot of something stronger, perhaps?  I mix a mean ‘Mind Eraser’ if you’ve anything you’d like to forget.”  His eyes strayed in Lobelia’s general direction meaningfully.  “Like that, for example.”

“Maybe later,” Thorin said, mentally filing that bit of information.  “I’m actually looking for someone; he was just here talking to you, I think.  About this tall,” he held up a hand to signify Will’s height relative to himself.  “Curly hair...”

“You wouldn’t be talkin’ ‘bout Master Took, would ya?”

Thorin nodded with a quiet sigh of relief.  “Yes!  Yes, that’s him.  Do you happen to know where he went?”

“Aye,” Bofur confirmed.  “Bummed a cigarette and a lighter from me, and headed out to the back garden.”  His countenance turned thoughtful.  “Looked like he needed it too.  Tremblin’ like a leaf, he was.  Musta had a bit of a fright, poor lad.”

“The garden,” Thorin repeated.  “Great.  Thanks!”  He ducked out the nearest door.

Attempting to navigate the maze of halls and rooms that led past the club’s other facilities was no easy task.  Even if Thorin would admit to being somewhat directionally challenged, the layout of the Greenwood was annoying similar to its namesake, with winding passages that splintered in many directions like the paths of a forest.  Because of this, it took him almost ten minutes to find the correct area of the building.

The tall glass doors of the rear exit opened outwards onto a massive, whitewashed deck that spanned the length of the building.  From this, one could peacefully gaze out upon the garden, which could be more aptly thought of as its own park in size.

A stone fountain stood in the very center of the yard.  The statues that stood up from and fed the water basin depicted two women - one kneeling, the other standing - dressed in wrapped fantasy-style gowns and tending to two small saplings.  The water was circulated in such a way that it poured from the standing woman’s hand and the kneeling woman’s eyes like tears.  

Cobblestone lanes extended in all four directions from the fountain.  One came right up to the deck, while the other three branched out to join the main walkway that extended along the garden’s rectangular perimeter.  Every inch of the area that was not of a footpath was covered with blooming flowerbeds, and trees lined the outer edge of the whole area on all sides.

Interspersed at set intervals along the perimeter were lacquered wooden benches, where one might rest in the tranquility of this place.  Near one of them, directly across from the deck on the far edge, a lone figure stomped to and fro.

Discerning the figure as his elusive assistant, Thorin traversed the center trail since it was the quickest route to him.  As he neared, Will’s agitated voice rose above the noise of the fountain’s running water.  Thorin realized by the angle of his arm that Will was talking to someone on his cell phone.  His other hand was clenched lightly around something he could not see.

“What do you mean, _it’s not enough_?  What else could he have meant?”

Thorin slowed to give Will at least a little bit of privacy, but he could still make out his words.

After a long break, Will grumbled, “Yeah well, that’s not really my job, is it?  No… Well, none of it is!  I told you I wasn’t cut out for this!”  Thorin stopped a few meters away, allowing Will at least a little bit of privacy.  He didn’t mean to eavesdrop yet again, but he was deeply concerned, and intent on uncovering the truth of what had happened between him and Smaug.

Will turned and noticed Thorin coming towards him.  If he was surprised by his approach, he didn’t show it.

He sighed and rubbed his eye with the back of his fist.  “Yeah, okay.  I got it.  I’ll touch base with you tomorrow.  Mm-hmm.  ‘Bye.”  He hung up and shoved the phone in his coat pocket.  After that, he began shuffling the objects in his other hand – the cigarette and Bofur’s lighter.

Thorin took that as a cue to resume his approach.  “Will – are you alright?” he inquired tentatively.  

William nodded as he slipped the cigarette between his lips and fumbled with the lighter.  “Yeah, yeah.  No prob,” he muttered unconvincingly.  His words were slightly garbled from trying to speak with his teeth clenched around the tobacco stick.

He brought the lighter close to his face, shielding it with one hand to prevent a breeze from extinguishing its tiny flame and ran his thumb over the spark wheel.  Unfortunately, his hands were shaking too much to keep it lit – whether from fear or fury, Thorin didn’t know.

Will dropped the lighter and swore loudly, but Thorin intervened when he moved to retrieve it.

“Let me,” he commanded.  He closed the distance and bent down to pick it up.  In one deft motion, he flicked the lighter and held it steady for him. Their eyes met for a brief second when Will titled his head forward to ignite the end.

He brought his hand up to cover his mouth, his pointer and middle finger parting to trap the cigarette between them.  He took a deep inhale and blew the smoke away from Thorin.  “Thanks,” he mumbled.

Thorin pocketed the lighter with a mental note to return it to the bartender.  He sat down on the nearby bench, his arm resting along the backrest, and crossed his legs.  “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a smoker,” he remarked casually.

Will gave a snort.  “I’m not.  I mean I was, but…”  He walked back and forth on an imaginary line before him and ran his unoccupied hand through his curls.  “I was a heavy smoker back when I was at University, but I quit after I graduated.  I only smoke now if… well… I-it helps me calm down.”  

“I’m not going to make you tell me if you don’t want to,” Thorin said after a few minutes of watching him fidget and smoke.  “But… I hope you know that it’s okay to come to me with any problems you might have, work-related or otherwise.”

Will took a long drag, his eyes still on the ground, and bobbed his head.  “I know; I know.”

After a moment, he sat down on the opposite side of the bench.  He did not look at Thorin as he said, “It was stupid really.  Smaug just made a pass at me, that’s all.  It caught me off guard.”  He shuddered at the memory.

“Had he done that before?” Thorin asked.  He was dismayed by the idea that Will might have endured unwanted advances previously, but he thrilled a little to hear Will resort to using the Wyrm’s last name.

“No; it took me completely by surprise.”  He looked even more troubled as he considered the matter.  “The guy creeps me out.  I get a bad feeling around him.”  He breathed from the cigarette and flicked the ash away.  “I don’t think he’s really interested in me, to be honest.”

Thorin knit his brows.  “If that were the case, why would he hit on you?”

William shrugged.  “Don’t know for certain.  But if I had to guess, I think he wants something from me.  And he thought he could get it but pretending to offer me something he thought I wanted.”

Thorin shook his head.  “I’m not sure I follow you,” he admitted.  

Will tilted his head towards the sky to blow out his next puff of smoke.  “I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure Smaug’s a psychopath.  He doesn’t understand or care about the feelings of others, but he knows enough to be able to manipulate them to serve his own purposes, or to get whatever he desires.”

His next exhale was accompanied by a sad hum.  “Smaug and I spent a lot of time together organizing this event, and he probably observed me.  I’m just making assumptions here, but I suppose he thought I could be useful to him in some way.  His initial request had to do with completing some odd jobs for him, or something of the like, but I turned him down.  When that didn’t work, he tried to coerce me by offering me some form of companionship – probably sex.”

“That’s seems… rather bold.  What would make him think he could get to you that way?” Thorin probed.

“I wasn’t flirting with him or doing anything inappropriate, if that’s what you’re implying,” Will scoffed.

Thorin frowned and inclined towards him.  “I did not mean anything of the sort,” he insisted.

Will didn’t speak again for a long while.  Thorin shifted impatiently, worried that he may have overstepped his bounds.

Eventually, he sighed.  “I’ve… I’ve been a bit lonely, to be honest,” he confessed haltingly.  “My sister and her family still live in our hometown – it’s a six hour flight at least – and I don’t get to see a lot of my friends since they’re usually busy with their own families or other things.  I haven’t been in a steady relationship since I was a teen.  I think... Smaug picked up on that and figured I’d be more compliant if I thought he was attracted to me.  Hmph!  He was dead wrong on that.”

Thorin sat back and scrutinized his assistant, stunned by his vulnerability.  “I’m sorry you’ve been feeling that way, and that Smaug tried to exploit you.”  He crossed his arms.  “Maybe it’s time I reconsidered his position with the company.”

Will finally faced him and shook his head.  “Nah, don’t do that on my account.  He’s a creep, but he’s also really good at his job.  The foundation is thriving with him in charge, and considering the state of things, it’s not a good idea to make any drastic changes.”

He stood up again, finished the last dregs of his cigarette, and crushed the remaining ember under his foot.  “Besides, I don’t think he’ll try anything again.”

Thorin followed his lead.  He smirked down at him.  “You may be right – especially after the impressive way you handled yourself.  I must admit: I didn’t see that coming.”

Will coughed with embarrassment and started to walk back towards the building.  Thorin caught up with him in time to hear him chuckle.  “Oh, well… that was nothing – just a little basic self-defense maneuver.  It may shock you to hear it, but I’ve always been considered... well... more of nerd, I suppose, which of course made me a bully magnet growing up.  I _had_ to pick up a few tricks if I wanted any peace and respect.”

“Between that and your right hook, I don’t think there’s much cause for worry.  I’d better keep it in mind as well, lest I do something stupid to piss you off again,” Thorin said.

When they reached the building, he held open the door for Will and let him take the lead back to the auditorium.

“Oh, you’re fine.  I think you’ve learned your lesson already,” Will joked.  “Besides, I’m not all that good in a real fight.  I just end up with the element of surprise on my side.”  His good humor dissolved, and he hugged himself, rubbing his arms.  “Come to think of it, I should probably brush up on basic hand-to-hand combat,” he mused, more to himself than Thorin.

Thorin stopped Will by laying a hand on his shoulder and turning him so that they faced one another.  “Go ahead, if you feel that you must.  But I meant what I said - you can come to me for anything, Will.  I can protect you if need be.”

William raised his chin defiantly.  “I’m your assistant, Mister Oakenshield.  It’s hardly your job to protect me, now is it?”

Thorin glared right back.  “Perhaps not, but it would be my privilege.”

Will blushed and did not comment on his offer.

Thorin could feel heat creeping up the back of his own neck, but he explained, “You are _not_ just my assistant, William Took.  You’re really... very important to me.  You are my... my friend.  A-and I would not see any harm come to you.”

Will smiled at this declaration, but there was something strange about the rest of his expression.  Thorin thought he seemed... conflicted.  

“Mister Oakenshield...”

“You can call me ‘Thorin’, you know,” he interrupted.

William nodded once.  Then he bowed his head and leaned in, touching his forehead to Thorin’s chest.  “Right.  Thanks, Thorin.  I really appreciate it.”

Thorin suspected that Will had moved in such a way to hide his face from him, but he didn’t really care too much.  He was more focused on how wonderful it felt to have him so close that they were practically embracing.  He wondered if Will would be terribly averse to being fully enveloped or if he would react as he did with Smaug.

He didn’t get to make up his mind.  Will backed off and cleared his throat.  “I - um... I need to get back to work.  And Lobelia’s likely to throw a fit soon if you don’t return to her.”

“I don’t know,” Thorin countered hopefully.  “She seemed quite taken with Otho Sackville.  I might be off the hook.”

William burst out laughing and resumed walking.  “Ah ha ha ha ha!  That would be just my luck!  Then again, they are alike in their ambitions.  I’m sure they’d get along all too well.”

Thorin pondered the meaning of why such a match would amuse Will, but came up empty.  But at least he was in better spirits.

“Do you have to work the entire event?” he asked.  Since he had very little part in the planning of everything and Will was a volunteer, he had no knowledge of it.

“Not really,” Will answered.  “All the volunteers were taking it in shifts, and I was only supposed to get all the speakers and performers settled with their schedules.  I’ll need to verify that my replacement is up to speed, but it’s not necessary for me to stay much longer.”

“And there are a few patrons that I need to confer with yet,” Thorin remembered.  “But once we’ve both fulfilled our respective obligations, maybe we could get out of here and grab a drink together?”

Will halted at the junction where they should part.  He looked back with something like hope in his eyes.  “Really?  I-I mean... wouldn’t you prefer to stay and enjoy the event?  Plus, there’s likely to be an after-party once the formal production is over.”

“I’ve never been one for such things,” Thorin shrugged.  “Besides, I’d much rather spend time with you over anyone in there.”

His disclosure had the intended effect.  William turned an attractive shade of pink, and he nodded shyly.  “O-oh.  O-okay, if you’re sure...  I’d... I’d really like that.”

“Good.  I’ll go make my rounds and arrange for Lobelia to be driven back to her hotel.”

“Right.  Well, text me when you’re ready then.”  William whirled around and scurried away to finish his own tasks.

Thorin concurred, excitement settling in chest.  

The night may not have started out as well as he might have expected, but now it might be redeemable.  Neither of them had outright said it, but Thorin had essentially secured a date with his adorable assistant.  The only thing that could have made him happier at the moment would have been a full resolution of his company’s legal problems.

In any event, his mood had lightened with his heart, and he returned to the auditorium, more than willing to face anything and anyone he might encounter, including Lobelia Bracegirdle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: a tense encounter with an old rival, a history lesson, and an impromptu movie night!
> 
> To be continued....
> 
> Comments and reviews appreciated! Thanks for reading!


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